


Unexpected Outcomes

by lod



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (spoilers omg don't read the tags), Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Angst, HAVE FUN BOYS, M/M, No Metaverse (Persona 5), Oops, SEX I GUESS?!, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Tutoring, University, sorry I need to write the fluff!, unless I get eager and make it happen too fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-28 23:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15717213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lod/pseuds/lod
Summary: Akira's a student in university looking for some extra cash. Iwai's a shop owner looking for a tutor who's not afraid of a few model guns. Neither of them is prepared for what they end up finding in each other.





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haithuong313](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haithuong313/gifts).



> For my favorite iwaixpego fan. The prompt for the story is hers. Hope you enjoy, Greenie!
> 
> I don't have this story fully written out yet, which is quite unlike me, so expect to see a lot of edits and of me going back and fixing up previous chapters as I update.

It didn’t start out as much. Akira had finally given in to the reality that his stipend wasn’t enough to cover the cost of meals and rent, and still leave enough to have some fun with his friends. It wasn’t like he had a fancy lifestyle; he rented a really cheap attic-turned-bedroom above a cafe, and rarely went out to eat. He just wanted to be able to catch a movie every now and then, get a drink at a bar and still be able to buy dinner, maybe pay the entrance fee to the fishing pond on sunny weekend afternoons.

So he sat at his desk, eating ramen like he’d been doing for the past week and scrolling through the wanted ads resentfully.

 _Dishwasher at a pub._ He’d done enough of that as a teenager; it was nice having hands that weren’t peeling and cracking all the time.

 _Babysitting._ Definitely not. Kids were great, when they belonged to other people and stayed a minimum of 50 meters away from him.

 _Sales associate._ Wasn’t the whole point of going to university to not end up doing retail work?

He knew he was being ridiculous, but the idea of doing any of these jobs made him want to flop back onto his bed and moan. If it hadn’t been for his cat, he might have, but he didn’t want the grumpy feline to meowl at him angrily for the next half hour, which he tended to do when woken up too early.

He scrolled through the second page, beginning to give up hope. Reaching the end with nothing good in sight, he resigned himself to look through one more page before giving up. He could stand another month of eating ramen and staying home. Retail, retail, customer service _hell no_ , janitor, … tutoring? That had some potential, at least. He opened the ad.

> Help Needed
> 
> Looking for a tutor to teach Japanese language reading and writing to an adult man, Mondays and Thursdays from 7pm to 9pm. 3000 yen/hour. Send CV to apply.

He considered the ad. It didn't conflict with his classes, the pay was pretty good… He’d never taught anyone to read and write, nevermind an adult, but at least he was sure he knew the subject. The ad was a couple weeks old, however, and being the only one of its type there was a good chance the position wasn’t available anymore. It seemed a bit too good to be true. Not so much that he wouldn’t give it a try, though. He spent the rest of the evening fixing up his CV, which had gone untouched since he’d started university two years ago, and sent the email on before heading to bed.

* * *

The next morning, a reply was waiting in his inbox.

> The position is still available. The lessons will be held in the backroom of the model gun store I run. If this is a problem for you, in the interest of not wasting my time like the last three applicants did, please let me know. If not, you can come by my shop today or tomorrow during opening hours and we can discuss it.
> 
> _\- Iwai_

Beneath that were included a phone number and the address of the store. Akira looked it up, finding that it was called “Untouchable” and had an undeniably shady facade. He dug around a bit more, but couldn’t find the owner’s full name or a picture of him. Shady or not, the money was still good and the work more appealing than anything else he’d found, so he sent back a quick reply saying that he’d come later that day before heading off to school.

* * *

It was nearing 6pm by the time he made his way to Shibuya after a long day. College could be fun, even his classes weren’t all bad, but having a full day of lectures was just cruel and unusual punishment. All he wanted was to go spend the evening at the bathhouse across the street from his home, but he reminded himself that he couldn’t _afford_ the bathhouse without the job.

Untouchable was right next to Shibuya station, which at least made it easy to get to, in a dark alley off of Central street. A cat hissed and ran away when Akira walked down, the only sign of life in the alley. Apart from the shop, it seemed to serve mostly as a parking for bikes, some of which looked to have been there for months if not years. It didn’t look like an ideal location for a shop, but that wasn’t Akira’s problem.

The bell on the door jingled as he walked in, calling the attention of the man sitting behind the counter — if leaning back on a chair with his feet up on top of the display case could really be considered “sitting.” His eyes were barely visible beneath the brim of his pinstriped grey hat. What Akira took to be headphones at first glance, but then realised were actually ear defenders, sat atop the hat, and a lollipop stick stuck out of the man’s mouth.

“What do you want?” the man asked sullenly.

Akira was beginning to rethink this whole “model gun shop backroom” situation.

“I’m here for Iwai? I’m Akira, I applied for the tutoring job.”

The man pulled his feet off the counter, letting his chair drop back on all four feet. “That’s me.” Iwai stood as Akira came closer, revealing an oversized jacket with a peace sign — incongruous given the guns surrounding him — and, barely visible above a black turtleneck, a small tattoo of a gecko on his neck. That gave Akira pause; sure, these were gun models, but they were still models, and a moody salesman wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. The tattoo, though, that implied there might be something behind his foreboding appearance. His hesitation grew, but he remembered the other jobs available and forced himself to keep a smooth face.

“So, you’re just a university student looking for some extra cash, that’s right?”

Akira nodded.

“No links to anything unsavory?”

…Shouldn’t Akira have been asking that question? He paused, then shook his head anyway.

“Alright. You'll be teaching me. I know how to write basic kana, but never did get a chance with the kanji. Dropped out of school a little too early for it. I’m willing to put in the effort to study on my own, but you have to provide the material. I expect you to let me know if you’re unavailable at least a week in advance unless it’s an emergency, and I’ll do the same on my end. I’ll pay you in cash after every session.”

As the man kept talking, Akira felt more at ease. He was gruff, but didn’t seem aggressive; as for the tattoo, as unfamiliar as its presence was, the gecko was a bit too cute to really put Akira in mind of dangerous gangs.

“When do you want to start?”

“As soon as possible, sir.”

“Call me Iwai, nobody’s ever called me sir and it’s not about to start now. How about next Monday for the first lesson, then? I assume you’ll need some time to prepare.”

“Yes, s— Iwai. I’ll see you next Monday at 7pm, then.”

Akira left after a last glance around the shop — he hadn’t ever considered himself a gun enthusiast, but some of these models seemed pretty cool. Maybe he could have a better look the next time he came. Outside, night had fallen, and the one flickering street lamp in the alley managed to make it look even creepier than it would have in the dark. Akira hurried back into the bright lights of Central street and made his way home, looking up language lesson plans on his phone.

* * *

The next Monday, Akira walked into Untouchable five minutes before 7. Iwai nodded at him in greeting, but there was still a customer lingering in a corner of the shop, so he sent him on to the back while he finished up. It was a bigger room than Akira had expected, shelves full of boxes lining all four walls, interrupted by a small desk in a corner holding an outdated computer and a coffee machine, and a door he assumed led to the bathroom. There was a neon light overhead, not quite bright enough to keep the corners of the room from fading into shadow, and in the center was a foldable table surrounded by two chairs. Akira took the opportunity to set up while he waited for Iwai.

He’d printed out some basic worksheets he’d found online, with the kana and some simple kanji. They would probably need to get a textbook at some point, but for now, it would do; he needed to evaluate Iwai’s level before picking anything, anyway. He had said he didn’t know kanji, but judging by his well-stocked store, he must at least have had some grasp on the basics to run a successful business.

After a few minutes, Iwai came in, shrugging off his oversized coat onto the back of his chair.

“Want some coffee?”

Akira replied in the affirmative, thanking him for the offer, and Iwai went to the bathroom to fill the pot with water.

Once the coffee was ready, they set to work. As Akira had expected, Iwai already knew some basic kanji, and had no issues at all with the kana. It was a good base to start on, at least. By the time he’d made him do all the worksheets he had brought, it was about 9pm. Iwai handed him his pay in cash, as agreed, and walked him to the door.

Akira made his way home, thinking over the evening. It had gone much better than he had expected. Iwai seemed motivated to learn, and not as cold as he’d seemed at first. Not friendly by any means, either, but Akira didn’t expect that; there had to be at least 10 or 15 years between them, and he was just a tutor. He didn’t need friendship. He thought of his full wallet and smiled. The pay was great, too. Iwai had mentioned in parting that he could buy any textbooks necessary, he’d pay him back for them; money didn't seem to be an issue with him. Akira must have been wrong when he’d thought an out-of-the-way shop wouldn’t get much in the way of customers.

* * *

As time passed, Akira learned that there were many facets to Iwai. There was the thoughtful one, when he was doing an exercise on his own; the satisfied one when he remembered a kanji correctly; the frustrated one when he kept getting the same thing wrong. That last one had scared him the first time he’d seen it. Iwai’s jaw had clenched, fists curled and veins bulging in his arms as he visibly restrained himself from lashing out physically in anger. But a moment later, he’d taken a deep breath, visibly calming himself down, and apologized for the reaction when he’d noticed Akira’s uncertain expression. Akira had tried to play it down, to say that it was normal to struggle a bit and to get frustrated, but Iwai had just snorted at him.

“Don’t coddle me, kid. I don’t pay you to be nice to me.”

It was a refreshing sort of honesty. Akira was used to telling people what they wanted to hear; it made the world easier to navigate. He'd learned early on what it cost to speak his mind. Even with his friends, he was always the version of himself he knew they wanted. Carefree and friendly with Ryuji, geeky with Futaba, serious with Makoto. Not that he ever lied, but he made sure to keep to those aspect of himself that he knew would best please them. With Iwai, it was different; what he wanted was the unadulterated truth, no soft words, no sidestepping. It was a bit hard to get used to at first, but once he did, Akira loved feeling free, for once, to just say what he thought without any filter.

As the weeks passed, Iwai made good progress, and the conversation between them grew less stilted, more comfortable. Akira started looking forward to the tutoring sessions. There was something satisfying in seeing the man get better thanks to him. It was a bit unfair to attribute much of Iwai’s success to himself; realistically, it was mostly the hard work Iwai put in between their sessions that allowed him to move at such a good pace. Regardless, Akira grinned when Iwai read his first newspaper sentence alone, as excited as he’d been the last time he aced an exam.

He felt comfortable enough after a few weeks to ask, at the end of a session that had gone particularly well, if Iwai could tell him a bit about a certain gun that he’d been admiring each time he came in the shop. Iwai agreed with as much enthusiasm as Akira had ever seen on him, pulling the gun off the shelf, explaining the make and model, the history of the wars it had been used in. From there, he went on to talk about similar models, other guns used in the same period, the rarer variations that sold at auctions for exorbitant prices… This, too, was a different facet of him, one Akira hadn’t had the opportunity to see before. He was clearly in his element; there was none of the uncertainty he showed during their lessons, here. He was confident, animated. It was a good look on him, fit him better than the frustration and despair Akira often saw.

They got distracted by the discussion, and when Akira at last noticed the time, he realised he’d have to hurry if he wanted to make the last train. Even with that, he wasn’t sure he’d make it. Iwai noticed his worried look at his watch.

“Did I keep you too late?”

“I should be able to make the last train, if I run,” Akira replied, unable to keep his worry out of his voice. If he missed it, that taxi ride would probably cancel out anything he’d earned tonight.

“How far do you live?”

“Over in Yongen. Not too bad, but too far to walk…” Akira was about to walk out the door, when Iwai called him back.

“Hold on. I’ll just give you a ride home.” He pulled a motorcycle helmet from beneath the counter. “I think this should fit you fine. Might flatten your hair a bit, but you’ll survive.”

Akira stared at the helmet for a moment. A motorcycle ride? He’d never been on a bike before; Makoto had one, but she'd said it’d be a cold day in hell before she let any guy take a ride on it. He’d batted his eyelashes and flipped his curls at her, but somehow, she hadn’t been convinced. Now he had a chance, but he found himself hesitant. Riding together on a motorcycle was quite a bit more intimate than getting a lift in a car, and this was his employer, technically.

“Well?” Iwai prompted after he’d stood there for a few second without moving.

Akira made up his mind. By now, he was sure to have missed his train, and fifteen minutes of awkwardness were definitely worth the cost of a taxi home.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks. That sounds good.”

He picked up the motorcycle helmet, wedging it on his head. It fit snugly, but if he recalled correctly that was how they were expected to fit. Iwai finished locking up, then led him to his bike, laughing at him when he realised Akira’d never ridden on one before.

“Really? Cool kid like you, taking the subway everywhere? I’m surprised. My son’s been pestering me to get him a scooter since the day he was old enough for a licence.”

“You have a son?”

Akira was surprised. Iwai was older, but he didn't seem old enough to have a scooter licence-aged kid.

Iwai’s face closed at his words, like a door slamming shut, smile fading and eyes growing cold. “Nevermind that. Now, give me your address, I need to get home.”

Akira wondered what he’d done wrong, but before he could figure it out and apologize for it, they were off, and the wind stole any chance at conversation. It was exhilarating, the city zipping by as they sped through the streets; it could have been scary, but each movement was smooth, controlled. It was obvious Iwai had been doing this for a long time. Akira held on to him, hands gripping his waist. Any awkwardness he might have felt had vanished at the first turn, when the motorcycle’s tilt had, for just a second, made him feel like he was about to drop to the pavement. He held on tight now, and the warm body beneath his hands radiated heat, an additional comfort in the cold night.

They got to Leblanc’s, the cafe where he lived, without any issues, and Akira found himself wishing that Yongen was just a bit further away from Shibuya. The ride had been better than any coaster in Dome Town. Iwai took the helmet back, strapping it to the back of his seat, and his earlier offense seemed forgotten as he said a friendly goodnight to Akira.

Sleep was elusive that night. The adrenaline rush was slow to leave him, and he kept recalling scenes from the evening. What was strange was that he couldn’t remember any of the guns they’d looked at; only Iwai’s face, smiling, talking, laughing.


	2. Realisation

It became a bit of a tradition for them after that to spend an extra half hour in the evenings chatting. Iwai showed him new models and custom orders he was working on, or talked about the obscure history of random items in the store. He even started bringing over personal favorites from his collection at home. Akira found all of it fascinating, and as Iwai learned to read and write new kanji, so too did Akira learn the intricacies of both guns and model building.

One evening as they sat together in the back room, Akira took advantage of a lull in the conversation to ask a question that had been on his mind for some time now.

“I’ve been wondering. Why did you decide to learn reading and writing now? You’re progressing fast, and your business has obviously been successful for a while, so I’m guessing it’s not a question of having tried and failed, or of needing it for the shop?”

Iwai leaned his head on his hand with a slight grunt, elbow resting on the table between them. He seemed hesitant, and Akira realised the answer might be quite personal.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my place.”

Iwai waved his apology off. “Nah, you’re fine. It’s… I didn’t always live like this,” he said, gesturing at the store. “Used to run with a different crowd. I fell in with them pretty early on, and it wasn’t the kind of place you learned how to read and write. They favored street smarts more than school smarts, you could say.”

His tone was dark as he looked down at the table, and Akira knew there was a story there, could feel the edges of its nebulous form, but Iwai moved on before he could try to tease it out.

“I wasn’t all that old when I left them, around your age. Still too old to go back to school, though, and too proud to try and learn on my own. What I had was good enough. Nobody needed to know how dumb I was.”

“You’re not dumb,” Akira interjected.

Iwai raised his head a fraction and cast a sideways glance at him. “Shush, kid” he said, but the words were soft, no bite behind them. “Anyway, I didn’t need it. Did well enough with myself, started with a tiny store out in the boonies, worked my way up to being able to afford the rent in central Tokyo. Didn’t see any reason to embarrass myself trying to learn something even kids know.”

He fell silent, tapping the fingers of his free hand on the table. Akira was about to change the topic of conversation, thinking he’d said as much as he was going to, when he spoke again.

“I’ve got a kid, I think I let that slip the other day?”

Akira hummed in agreement.

“His name’s Kaoru, and he’s everything I wasn’t. Smart. Motivated. I don’t deserve him. The other day, he brought home a letter for me — they had to write about someone they admired for class, and the damn kid picked his own dad. But when he gave me that letter? I couldn’t even read it, had to have him read it out for me. If that’s not the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard….”

It wasn’t pathetic, Akira thought. He would never have chosen his own parents to write about for an assignment like that; Iwai was clearly a better father than he gave himself credit for. He knew better than to say it, though. He’d just get some snappy reply about not being a smartass, or a suckup, as if compliments could never be sincere when they concerned Iwai.

“He translates everything for me at home. School notes, doctor’s reports…. Sometimes I feel like he’s the parent and I’m the kid, and I hate putting that responsibility on him. It’s not fair to him, not that he’d ever complain. When I look at him I’m terrified of getting it wrong, of him turning out like I did because of me. I want everything for him, as sappy and dumb as that sounds. Guess that’s what having kids is like.”

Akira didn’t reply; it wasn’t something he had much experience with, dealing with children. But the way Iwai spoke, it sounded… nice. Like what he wished his own parents had felt like regarding him. Not that they had ever been horrible; they’d just never really seemed to care, either. They hadn't believed him when it would have mattered most, either, and though they'd apologized, Akira didn't think he could ever entirely forgive them.

“Anyway, he’s going to take his high school entrance exams this year, so I have him seeing a tutor twice a week, and I figured it was high time I got over my shame and saw one too. For him, if not for myself.”

He raised his head then, looking right at Akira. “He doesn’t know I’m doing this. I’m hoping to surprise him with it when he brings home his exam results. So, if you ever happen to meet him, you’re just a part-timer working in my shop, right?”

Akira nodded. It was a pretty short timeline, hoping to be good enough by the time exam results came in — less than a year — but Iwai was so motivated, so hard-working, that he wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to pull it off. He probably wouldn’t reach his son’s level so fast, but there was a chance he’d be able to read the letter. It was helpful at least, knowing what his student’s motivation was.

That had been quite a bit more than a cut-and-dry explanation, though. There were a lot of emotions there, a backstory that he suspected the usually withdrawn man wouldn’t have shared with just anybody. He felt unexpectedly proud to have been trusted with it.

“I understand. Thanks for telling me, Iwai.”

Iwai looked a bit embarrassed, the slightest hint of pink in his cheeks. “I suppose it’s good for you to know why you’re teaching me. And… you can call me Mune. Figure we spend enough time together to drop the formality. Ain’t it about time you got home, anyway?”

* * *

Akira didn’t take him up on the offer to use his first name. It felt strange; and anyway, Iwai continued to call him “kid” instead of his own first name, so it was only fair turnabout. Despite that, he started looking forward to his tutoring lessons more and more. Iwai’s quick progress was gratifying to see, and their conversations afterwards had become the highlight of his week.

He had great friends in university, people he loved to spend time with, but with Iwai it was different. With his friends from school, they talked about teachers and class gossip, they went out to movies or restaurants or bars, but it was rare for them to just sit somewhere and talk, seriously, without interruption. With Iwai, it felt natural; Akira spent time with him every week, and yet each time was as interesting as the last.

Iwai was quite a bit older than Akira, and it could have made it hard for them to connect, but instead it made him fascinating. He had so many more stories to tell than Akira and his friends did. It wasn't so much that any of them had led easy lives; there were a handful of orphans in the lot, and others who might as well have been for all the care their parents took. Akira'd gotten out of it better than most, but he had his own dark memory, of screams in an alley after a long school day, and everything that had changed because of it... but listening to Iwai, Akira realised the value in befriending people who didn't spend their days on university benches, and started to meet new people in his neighborhood on the nights he didn’t spend with Iwai.

There was Takemi, the unexpectedly punky doctor who worked in the clinic close to his apartment and who often got coffee in LeBlanc’s in the morning. She hadn’t had an easy way of it, but had struggled through to manage to open her own clinic anyway.

There was Kawakami, the professor who always seemed exhausted. He brought her coffee, and she opened up to him as they sat in her office, voicing the fears he never realised a teacher could have — that her students hated her, or found her boring or inefficient, that her classes were dull, that she would never amount to anything.

There was Ohya, the journalist who asked him if he knew about the cats that had started disappearing for a local interest news story, and who he ended up bonding with over cups of sake in a Shibuya bar. He looked into the cats for her. It wasn’t for her, really. It was for the cats. But she appreciated it all the same.

There was a politician, a fortune teller, a lawyer. He felt like they all made him a better person in their own ways; Kawakami taught him compassion, Takemi resilience… but it was always meeting Iwai that he looked forward to the most. His stories were the most interesting, and after so many meetings, the shop felt like an extension of home; it had nothing to do with the fact that Akira appreciated Iwai’s deep voice, or the way his fingers looked when they put models together, unexpectedly delicate and efficient.

* * *

The months had crept by until at last final exams came around, the last bastion standing between Akira and an unseemly long summer break. He had to cancel his lessons with Iwai for a couple of weeks as he reviewed and then passed the exams, but when he returned, Iwai had a new proposition for him.

“You’ve got a lot of free time on your hands for the new few months, right?”

“Yeah, I’m on summer break until September.”

“How would you feel about picking up some extra work around the store? You seem pretty passionate about the guns, and I could use the help. I’d pay you, of course.”

That was a proposition worth thinking over. Akira had been looking forward to getting to spend more time with his friends, but Ann and Shiho were traveling to Europe, Ryuji was teaching a sports camp, and most of his older friends weren’t free during the day anyway. Making some extra cash was always a good thing, too; his loans were deferred until graduation, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t benefit from making some headway on paying them back now.

“Yeah, that sounds great, actually. Thanks for offering.”

Iwai mostly had him working on stocking, cleaning and organising the store in the beginning. It wasn’t much fun, but when there were no customers he and Iwai could chat about nothing and everything as they usually did, and when there were, he could see Iwai transform into yet a new version of himself. Cocky, sure of himself, a shrewd businessman that dispensed precise advice. Akira thought he would never get tired of seeing new facets of his student and employer-turned-friend.

* * *

It was particularly busy on a particularly hot day, and Iwai was trying to work in the backroom where it was slightly cooler, putting together a model for a custom order while Akira checked the accounts for the previous month. However, he kept getting called out to the front room by the jingling of the door, one customer leaving only for the next to enter a few minutes later.

When the day finally ended, Iwai seemed annoyed as he looked at his unfinished model.

“I’m never going to get this one done in time, the customer’s coming by to pick it up on Friday. It’s not usually so active around here during summer break….”

Akira had previously offered to help by manning the register, but Iwai had refused. People came to his store rather than shopping online because they were looking for the knowledgeable guidance Iwai gave them. As much as Akira was learning, he was still very far off from being a worthy replacement. The models, though…

“Maybe I could help you?” Akira asked. “I’m not too bad with my hands, I could do the simple assembly parts. Leave the painting to you?”

Iwai thought for a moment before replying, “I don’t see why not. Come in a little earlier tomorrow and I’ll show you the basics.”

Akira took to the model building easily; when Iwai realised how good at it he was, he kept him working on them rather than doing busy work in the front. Akira hadn’t been bragging; he really was rather skilled with his hands. He’d thought of going into a trade school for some time as a teenager, but when you did good in school you went to university; that was how it worked, and Akira hadn’t thought to question it. Now, as he put together the models, carefully filing away asperities and assembling tiny pieces, he realised how much more satisfying he found this than sitting in front of a textbook, attempting to figure out the proof to a mathematical theorem.

Working on the models was fun, but there was an additional draw to the task. When Iwai wasn’t busy elsewhere, he’d come, draw his chair right up next to him and show him how to assemble a particularly tricky bit, how to manage to hold three pieces at once when it felt like he definitely needed a third arm. Akira would lose himself in looking at those dexterous fingers, unhesitating, so exact. It wasn’t that he had any sort of particular interest in Iwai’s hands, of course. He didn’t want those hands to touch him; that would have been silly, and strange. He just admired the talent, wanted to be as skillful as that someday; wanted to see how he did it, that he might best emulate it.

* * *

That lie help up for about a month.

It was early August, and Akira was working on an unusually difficult model. He’d been trying to clip two pieces together for much longer than it should have taken, and despite his usual calm he was growing more and more frustrated. Whenever he’d push one side in, the opposite would jump right out. It did so yet again and Akira swore loudly, clapping his hand over his mouth when he realised Iwai might have a customer in the shop.

He cringed, but no outraged reply came, so he picked the half-built gun back up to give it another shot. As he did so, the door opened, Iwai peeking in.

“Good thing I didn’t have anybody in,” he said as he entered.

Akira flushed and apologized, ducking his head down.

“It’s fine. What’s got you so worked up? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

“It’s this…  _ stupid  _ thing, I’ve tried to clip it in at least 30 times and it keeps  _ jumping _ ,” he replied, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Iwai came to sit in the chair next to him, looking amused. “Oh right. This one. Took me a while to figure it out too. I don’t know why they haven’t changed the build yet, every model fan seems to have a story about having struggled with it for hours if not days the first time they tried. Look,” he said, reaching forward,” you’ve got to push here,” he placed Akira’s fingers in one spot, pressing his own over them, “and at the same time make a sort of hook gesture downwards with the other hand,” he finished, taking Akira’s hand in his to illustrate the motion.

Akira frowned, trying to fix it in his mind, and looked up at Iwai as he asked, “Kind of like opening a door, th—”

His eyes landed on Iwai’s and he froze. His face was close, so close to his, and he was suddenly hyperaware of every place they touched, of the callused hands pressing against his, of the knee brushing against his thigh, of the warm breath hitting his lips —  _ the warm breath hitting his lips _ —

Time seemed suspended as they stared at each other, until finally Akira drew a deep, shaky breath which seemed to shatter the ice that held them, and Iwai dropped his hands like they’d burned him, shoving himself up and out of the chair so fast it toppled over. He picked it up hurriedly, and Akira saw that Iwai's face was as red as his own felt, but then he was gone, closing the door roughly behind him.

Akira didn’t move for a few minutes, the sensation of Iwai against him imprinting itself in his memory, replaying in a loop, ghost heat still present against his hands. Finally his heartbeat slowed back to a reasonable rate, and he tried to distract himself by attempting the move Iwai had shown him. It worked on the first try, and his mind wandered as he finished putting together the gun without any further issues.

He tried to tell himself that it had only been awkward because he didn’t usually find himself that close to anyone, nevermind someone who was older, had a kid, and was both his student and his employer. Put that all together, and the physical closeness could only come off as strange. He tried to believe it, but there was only so far that he could lie to himself, and as the gun came together, he let himself accept the thought consciously. Yes, it had been strange and unexpected, but he hadn’t frozen up because of Iwai’s proximity. He’d frozen up because if he hadn't, he thought he might have given in to his urge to lean forward and close the gap between them.

When Akira stepped out of the back room a few hours later, done with his work for the day, Iwai had trouble meeting his eyes as he handed him his pay. Akira figured it was for the best; he took the opportunity to let his gaze wander over Iwai, tracing the lines of his muscular body beneath the close-fitting black turtleneck he always wore, the curve of his lips, the trim greying hair beneath his cap. He’d been surreptitiously studying Iwai for months now, always justifying it — I’m just comparing his muscles with Ryuji’s — I just wonder how old he is, he looks young to have a child — it just looks like he needs a haircut — he seems too hot, maybe I should turn the fan on. It was nice to finally let himself look, without excuses or apologies.

Iwai stayed quiet as Akira picked up his bag and jacket and headed for the door. Akira worried, then. He’d assumed Iwai had only been startled, but that didn't warrant this silent treatment. It would have been just his luck, to discover his own attraction only to be pushed away immediately.

A hand on the door, he cautiously asked, “I’ll see you Thursday?”

There was a small huff, and Akira looked at Iwai, ready to see — what? Annoyance? Anger? Hatred?”

But there was only confusion on Iwai’s face, and at last he replied, “Yeah. See you. Good night, kid.”

“Good night, Iwai,” Akira replied, reassured, as he walked out. He kept turning a thought over in his mind as he walked to the subway, and couldn’t help smiling to himself as he did. Their accidental closeness really wasn’t that big a deal; the awkwardness should have been laughed over and forgotten just as quickly as it had come. Akira had only felt it so strongly because of his underlying feelings. So why had Iwai still seemed so affected by it hours later?


	3. Confession

Things seemed to be back to normal between them when he came in Thursday. It was both a blessing and a curse, to Akira. On the one hand, he was glad that they still seemed to be comfortable around each other; he would have hated to lose the friendship he’d found in Iwai, and looking for a new job wasn’t a particularly appealing idea either. On the other hand, he’d allowed himself to hope that his feelings might be returned, but it was apparent that that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t a terrible thing; yes, he was attracted to Iwai, but it was hardly the first time he’d experienced one-sided attraction, and with time it would pass and friendship would stay, as it had with others of his friends. He’d accept it, stay professional, and wait it out.

There was only one problem with that, and it was Iwai. Or more specifically, Iwai’s scarf.

* * *

September had come, and with it the end of summer break, leaving Akira struggling to handle going to class while continuing to attend to all the additional responsibilities he’d taken on over the the summer. He was staying up way past midnight every day to get even half of his homework done, he was pretty sure Takemi was pissed at him for not answering her last two calls, he’d barely had a chance to even say hi to his friends since term had begun, and he had a splitting headache that he was pretty sure was the warning sign of a cold he really didn’t have time for. When he walked into Untouchable that evening for Iwai’s lessons, he was about ready to fall over where he stood.

He tried to keep his voice cheerful and bright, as it usually was, but a thread of exhaustion must have wormed its way into it, because when he greeted Iwai the older man immediately stood up. His eyes were concerned as they landed on Akira’s, and he made his way over to him.

“You alright? You don’t look so hot.”

“Well that’s rude,” Akira replied, but his tired voice made the joke fall flat. “I’m fine,” he tried to insist, which would have worked better if his traitorous body hadn’t chosen that exact moment to tremble, a tremor running down his back and weakening his knees. Iwai caught him, and Akira was too out of it to notice what was going on until he realised he was sitting on a folding chair, Iwai kneeling by his side. Maybe he  _ was _ feeling a little sick. But he hadn’t cancelled the lesson in advance, and Iwai was waiting, so he tried to push himself up out of the chair —

Only to be pushed back down by a hand on his chest, too strong for him to struggle against even if he hadn’t been feeling like a limp dishrag.

“What the hell, kid,” Iwai said in a soft voice somewhere between worried and annoyed. “If you’re sick, you shoulda stayed home. Do you have a fever?”

It was always as incongruous, the contrast between Iwai’s muscular build and his delicate, artist-like hands. This was the first time Akira had observed one of them from so close, though, and he wondered why that hand was getting closer and closer to his eyes until suddenly it was brushing aside his bangs — his gross, sweaty bangs that he hadn’t had a chance to wash in days, but Iwai didn’t seem to care, because then his hand was flat against his forehead, and if Akira hadn’t been burning up before he sure as hell was now, the shape of that hand branding itself into his skin. He wondered idly if maybe he would pass out, before Iwai drew his hand back, taking his warmth along with it. He wanted to reach up and put it back, almost dazed enough to do so, but Iwai was standing back up and he was too far now for Akira’s grasping fingers to catch his wrist.

He stepped into the back room, then returned holding a cup of water that he pressed into Akira’s hands.

“Drink this, then you’re going home and resting. And I don’t want to see you back here until you’re completely better! Maybe see a doctor, too.” Akira almost laughed at that. Gruff, grumpy, no-nonsense Iwai acting the nurse. It didn’t really fit him, but in that moment he could see what Iwai might be like at home, with his son. Caring. Sweet. He liked that side of him, too.

Akira did as he was told, draining the cup of water. It helped a bit — he felt less dizzy, at least.

“Do you want a ride home?” Iwai asked.

The idea of dragging himself through the subway was unpleasant enough to make that offer tempting, but he still felt a bit unsteady and he didn’t want to risk falling off the motorcycle.

“I’ll be ok.”

"Wait. Is that all you're wearing?"

Akira looked down at his long sleeved shirt, open over a t-shirt in confusion. "Yeah?"

"Hold on," Iwai said as he reached under his counter, then walked over to Akira holding a...scarf?

"Here," he said as he wrapped it around Akira's neck.

"But I'm not cold?"

"You're sick," Iwai replied as if that was any sort of justification, and Akira was too tired to argue and the scarf was too soft, so he let him finish tying it.

"Send me a text when you get home," Iwai said in parting as he opened the door for him.

* * *

The ride home was a blur, but somehow Akira made it, remembering to send Iwai the requisite text once he did. He rummaged in his medicine box for some pain pills, and shoved some bread into his mouth as an afterthought, realising he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, before flopping onto his bed fully dressed.

Thirty minutes later, his headache had receded and he was beginning to feel a lot more human. He stretched, getting up to brush his teeth and feed his cat, when he noticed an unexpected smell. Not a bad one, but the blend of mild citrus, cologne and musk didn't match any of the shower products he used. It took him longer than it should have to realise it was coming from Iwai's scarf, still wrapped tightly around his neck.

He uncoiled the scarf, leaving it in a pile on his bed as he went to get ready. When he returned, he picked it back up with the intention of folding it neatly on the back of his desk chair, ready to be returned to Iwai, but somehow that motion turned into bringing it to his nose, inhaling deeply. The smell suited Iwai; clean, but ...  _ manly  _ somehow, and that was a silly thing to think, really, but he had no other words for it. The smell put him in mind of the man himself, smiling as he sat next to Akira in the backroom, and it wasn't a bad image. Akira let himself fall back on the bed, scarf still pressed to his face, and it was a few minutes before he fully realised what he was doing.

Shit.

He threw the scarf to the floor, pulling his pillow over his head with a heavy groan. He was supposed to be getting over Iwai, not falling in love, and damn it, had the word love really needed to come into his head just then?

He stayed like that for a while before he finally dragged himself back up to turn off the lights and close the windows before going to sleep. As he walked back to the bed, he let himself reach down for the scarf. It was there, and it wasn't like its presence was going to change anything about how Akira felt, so he figured he might as well....

* * *

In the end, it had only been a bad cold, and Akira was back the following week, having cut down on his engagements enough to at least get a reasonable night of sleep. That meant no more part time work at Untouchable, unfortunately, but he still had the tutoring lessons to look forward to. Iwai's progress continued to be as impressive, and Akira had brought him a simple children's book to start working on.

The book was fairly boring — most young children's books were — but it was still a surprise when Iwai kept getting distracted. He was usually very focused during their lessons, so this was really rather unusual. Akira would find himself explaining a sentence, and looking up at Iwai, find his eyes resting on Akira rather than on the book; or he'd point out a line for Iwai to read, and get only silence, the older man lost in thought with a faraway gaze.

"I'm sorry, I know this is a really boring book, but there's not a lot of exciting content at this level yet. I can look for something else for next time, though," Akira apologized.

Iwas snapped out of his reverie. "No, it's fine."

"You seem really distracted, though. We can go back to normal textbook lessons until your level gets better, if you’d rather?"

"That's not it," Iwai replied, and Akira could have sworn there was a hint of a blush in his cheeks, but then Iwai turned back to the story with renewed enthusiasm and the moment passed.

* * *

Akira tried to tell himself that it was all wishful thinking, that he was only imagining the changes in Iwai's actions. Yes, their eyes always seemed to meet and flit apart guiltily when Akira looked up at him, like two teenagers trying not to get caught in class, but then again there wasn't a whole lot to look at in the store, so it made sense for Iwai to be looking at him. He probably just hadn't ever noticed it before. And the way he seemed to linger just a bit longer than necessary when he put a hand on his shoulder or gave him a hand up, that was probably just his imagination running wild.

The look he caught on Iwai's face in the window's reflection, though, the day that he’d set him to dusting the top cabinets on his tiptoes, there was no platonic explanation for that one. Despite his misgivings, Akira allowed himself to hope. After all, he'd never been outright rejected, and as strange as the idea of Iwai being _shy_ , rather than just uninterested, sounded, it wasn’t entirely inconceivable either.

So he kept watch for those small signs, for the hidden smiles caught out of the corners of his eyes when Iwai thought he wasn't looking, for the unnecessary, but very welcome, hand on his shoulder or his bicep when they greeted each other, for the kindness in his tone when Akira told him how he couldn't find the stray cat he'd been feeding in the alley anymore. Maybe he was just being friendly. But maybe, just maybe, it was more than that, and that was enough for Akira to go on.

After weeks had passed without any sudden movements away when they were close, without any quickly withdrawn hands, without any abrupt ends to conversations suddenly turned too personal, Akira was feeling rather bold. His opportunity came on an evening in late September, when lessons were done and he was spending their usual extra half hour together working on a model. Iwai was behind him, sorting and putting away some new items that had come in, and when he asked him to check on his progress, Iwai leaned down right over his shoulder to get a closer look. He was so near to Akira that he felt the heat radiating off him; closer than he'd been since that day back in August, and without thinking too much about it, Akira turned towards him and kissed him on the cheek.

It wasn't anything special, just a quick peck — no more than he might have given a family member. To see Iwai's reaction, though, one might have thought it had been a heavy, open-mouthed kiss with tongue and maybe even roaming hands. The older man was plastered against the shelving behind him, wide-eyed and red-faced, looking for all the world like prey about to be devoured.

It was wrong for him to look like that, wrong and so far from what Akira had been hoping for, and he apologized, mortified at the thought of having taken something not freely given.

"I'm so sorry, Iwai. I thought — I misread the signals, it won't happen again. I promise."

Iwai took a few moments before he replied, speaking to the floor rather than to Akira. "You're just... you’re so, so young. You're barely older than my son, for god's sake. I'm smart enough not to be getting into something like this."

And that wasn't the confession of love Akira had hoped for, but it wasn't a _rejection_ , either. "Do you... like me?" he asked, hesitant and hopeful and afraid.

"That's not the point, kid!" Now Iwai looked angry, but it made no sense to Akira; how was that  _ not _ the point? What other point could there be?

"You're only twenty! I remember what it was like to be twenty, to feel more powerful than anything, like the world’s yours to take if you just reach out. And I remember what it felt like to suddenly be chained down, even by something you love, to feel all that hope and all those opportunities slip out of grasp. They never come back. That’s the thing about time, you can’t have it back once it’s spent. I don't want to be the one to trap you into some relationship with an old man."

Akira was angry too, then. To be treated like a child, now, after what he'd gone through? "I'm not a _kid_ , Iwai! I'm a goddamn adult, I can decide who and what I want and I don't need you to tell me what to do or how to feel, damnit!"

His anger seemed to mollify Iwai, who sagged down, all his fury replaced by sadness, and that wasn't any better but at least he wasn't yelling anymore.

"What happens in ten, fifteen years, kid? When you're my age and you're suddenly aware that we only get a limited amount of time around here, and you've wasted over a decade of it with me? When you decide you want to get married, and people ask me if I'm the father of the groom, or when you want kids and I can’t even be sure I’ll still be around to see them graduate? When you have to spend the healthy years of your retirement caring for an old man instead of enjoying your life?" He dropped his head in his hands. "How can you expect me to burden you down with that future?"

Akira stared at him. Iwai liked him. He hadn’t tried to deny it at any point. But what he was saying — implying he knew better than Akira what was good for him, refusing to understand that he wanted him more than he wanted some stable, boring, socially acceptable life with marriage and children and dying together of old age — that hurt him more than he’d thought possible.

"That's not _your_ decision to make. It’s mine," he said, the sting audible in the words, and Iwai shook his head.

"I couldn't live with myself. You're not even out of university yet. It’s so easy to forget it when we're talking together, as mature as you are… but you're still so very young. There’s so much left to come for you. I know it doesn't feel that way right now, but I'd rather have you hate me now than live with being the cause of your regrets ten years from now, when it's too late to give you your life back."

"But— you like me, right? You like me, and I like you! That's—" Akira sputtered, trying to find his words in the face of such an unjust situation. For a moment he considered telling Iwai everything. He would understand, wouldn't he? But... no. He'd kept that secret for so long that it seemed impossible to speak it out loud. When he reached blindly for something, anything, to say instead, only one thought came forth. He knew it wasn't the kind of answer that solved arguments but he wanted, no, _needed_ , to say it out loud. Needed Iwai to hear it.

"Iwai, I lov—"

"Don't." Iwai's voice was sharp, and it cut through Akira's voice as effectively as it cut through his heart, the pain of the rejection like a punch to the chest. "Don't say that when you don't mean it. You only know the version of me that lives within the walls of this shop. If there's anything there, it's infatuation, not love."

Akira wanted to lash out, to hit him for making light of his feelings, but he wanted to cry, too, and somehow that emotion won out, a single tear rolling down his face before he could wipe his eyes angrily, snatch his bag up and try to storm out the door.

Iwai grabbed his shoulder as he passed, stopping him. "I do care for you, kid. More than I’ve cared for anyone outside my family in years. That's _why_ I'm doing this. I hate myself for even thinking of saying this, but... someday you'll understand." He reached out, wiping a tear off Akira’s face with the pad of his thumb, and that was the last straw.

Akira ripped his shoulder out of Iwai's grip and let himself out, slamming the door behind him. A straightforward rejection, he could have handled. But this, this muddled confession that pulled him in just to shove him away, it was unfair and patronizing and fucking  _ awful _ . People gave him a wide berth as he headed home, and he knew he should be making some sort of effort to stop crying, to wipe the furious expression off his face, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (comments make my daaay <3)


	4. Arrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!  
> I realised there was a scene I wanted to add here, and it would have been a bit abrupt to bring it up with the story as it was, so I went back and edited the previous chapters to make it less jarring. You don't have to re-read, but be warned it may come a tiny bit out of the blue if you don't :) Enjoy!

Akira woke up to a text message from Iwai the next day. He almost deleted it, still angry, but he was too curious, too hopeful about Iwai having changed his mind since last night.

> **Iwai** Sorry about that, kid. Never intended to hurt you. If you want to stop our lessons, I understand.

It wasn’t the kind of apology Akira had been hoping for, but reading it over, he felt his anger fading, replaced by determination. He wasn’t going to stop seeing Iwai over this. He still needed to be making money one way or another, but more importantly, he wasn’t going to give up so easily. Iwai had said that he was interested. That he was _very_ interested. Iwai had also, somehow, gotten it in his head that Akira was a child to be protected. The solution was simple: Akira just needed to prove that he wasn’t a kid.

Unfortunately, that was a lot easier said than done.

They were a bit uncomfortable around each other the next time Akira came to Untouchable, but it wasn’t long before they fell back into their old ways, laughing and joking as though that fateful evening had been forgotten. Who knew, perhaps Iwai _had_ forgotten it. However, it was constantly on Akira’s mind; he spent hours trying to think of what he could do to convince Iwai, without much luck. Each day, the option of revealing his past grew more appealing, but still he looked for another option.

In the meantime, he distracted himself by flirting overtly; he taught Iwai the signs for love and dating, sat much closer than necessary, picked out romantic poems for him to practice reading. Iwai’s flushed expressions made it clear he knew what Akira was doing, but he never protested, and Akira took it as an invitation to keep going.

In the end, it was Iwai himself who gave him the chance he’d been looking for. They were working in the back room on an uneventful evening when a loud banging came from the front door. Distantly, someone yelled out.

“Police! Open up!”

Akira felt his heart race and his eyes flew to Iwai’s, but Iwai was already out of his chair, grabbing a brown paper bag from the back of a shelf and shoving it in Akira’s bag, covering it with their textbooks and notes before zipping it shut.

“Wha—”

“ _Shh_ ,” Iwai hissed, before schooling his features back into his usual grumpy calm and opening the door. Akira stood, terrified, barely able to make himself follow Iwai into the shop. He normally did everything he could to stay as far away from the police as he could, for rather obvious reasons, but there was no sneaking past the two angry looking policemen glaring about. A blurry image of an interrogation room threatened to push its way into his head, but before he could do more than gasp at the memory, one of the men yelled at him. 

“And who are you?!”

“That’s my tutor,” Iwai replied for him, the perfect picture of cool annoyance. “He’s teaching me to read and write. Although I guess with this mess, I should probably reschedule the rest of the lesson.”

“What’s your name,” one of the policemen asked him, sounding suspicious.

“A— Akira Kurusu, sir,” he replied, trembling. “I’m a second-year student in university. Is something wrong, officer?” He wanted to crumple to the floor and cry, and it was taking every bit of his strength of will to withstand the glower aimed at him.

The second policeman gave him a pointed look, but then waved him out. “Nothing to do with you. Go on, get out. We’ve got some official business to take care of here.”

Akira walked through the door, heart pounding so loudly he was sure they could all hear it. Any moment now, one of them would ask him to stop, to open his bag before he left — and then what would they find? He had no idea what Iwai had shoved in there. Probably something he wasn’t supposed to have, and they’d bring him back to the station, and back to jail cells and interrogation rooms and everything he’d been trying so, so hard to forget.

It took until he reached the subway for him to finally let out a sigh of relief, sagging heavily down into an empty seat. What had that _been_? Why had the police shown up to Untouchable after hours? Why had Iwai needed to hide something? He thought he’d gotten the whole story; shady guy turned respectable after having a kid, leaving all of the less-than-legal things in his past. Yet, the heavy weight in his bag made it clear there was more to it than that.

He finally made it home and up to his attic bedroom, where he put his bag down on his bed as carefully as if it contained a bomb. He kept looking back over to it as he made his way through his evening routine. Part of him wanted to leave it alone, bring it back to Iwai the next day, and act like none of this had ever happened. The other part itched to rush over, dump the contents of the bag right out onto the bed and see what it contained.

When he was finally done, had even cut his nails and set out his outfit for the next day and couldn’t think of any more ways to stall, he finally made his way back to his bed. He unzipped the bag hesitantly, having known it would end like this the whole night; he needed to know what was going on, to get some hint at least.

He pulled the brown bag out, the shape of it immediately giving away what it contained. It was oddly heavy, though, and when Akira drew the gun out he gasped. He’d expected a model gun — though why Iwai would feel the need to hide that in the middle of a model gun shop was unclear. But this… if it was a model, it was unlike any Akira’d ever seen before. The attention to detail was insane, and it was particularly heavy in his hands… Akira dropped the gun onto the bed as the realisation hit him. It looked _real_. Very, very real.

He stared at the gun on his bedspread, eyes wide in shock. Was it just a very realistic model? He had no idea how to tell. And if it was real, was it loaded? Was it dangerous? _Why did Iwai have it hidden at the back of a shelf?_ He wanted answers, and all he had was a terrifying piece of metal on his bed.

It took minutes before he could move, reaching for his phone — but no, the policemen might still be there, he couldn’t ask now. He’d have to wait until Iwai contacted him.

After a half hour had passed, Akira’d had time to calm down. He felt a bit foolish; real or not, the gun wasn’t going to suddenly jump out and attack him. He’d just make sure to keep his fingers away from the trigger, just in case, and it would be fine. Gingerly, he put the gun back in the paper package, then buried it at the back of his closet.

It took a long time before sleep found him. He’d barely managed to drift off into some sort of unconsciousness when his phone buzzed and he jolted back awake.

> **Iwai** Make it home ok?
> 
> **Akira** Yes
> 
> What’s going on?!
> 
> **Iwai** Not over text.
> 
> Come back tomorrow evening. We’ll talk then.
> 
> Bring the bag.

Akira gulped. Not over text. Then it really was something illegal; not that he’d needed the confirmation, considering Iwai had literally used him to hide it from the police, but he still felt like he was in way too deep. He didn’t get much rest that night.

* * *

It was a very stressful ride over, Akira jumping out of his skin anytime someone seemed to look at him for more than a second. His worried thoughts were so loud inside his brain that it felt like everyone around should be able to hear them, like he should have had a glowing target over his head yelling “suspicious guy here, check it out!”

When he finally made it through the doors of Untouchable, finding the store empty apart from Iwai, he felt so faint with relief he reached a hand out to the wall to stabilize himself.

Iwai glanced up at him, an unreadable expression in his eyes, then pointed his thumb towards the backroom wordlessly and let Akira follow him in before he shut the door.

“From the way you’re looking at me right now, I’m guessing you looked in the bag.”

Akira nodded, and Iwai sighed. “Wish you hadn’t done that, kid.”

To be fair, Akira also wished he hadn’t done that, but it wasn’t even a remotely valid explanation.

“Is it _real_?” he asked, unable to wait any longer to find out.

Iwai’s head snapped up to look at him. “What? No, it’s not real! I’m not… I don’t do that stuff anymore. What did you think was going on?!”

“The police come knocking down the door and you have me smuggle out a very realistic looking gun, what was I _supposed_ to think?” Akira snapped back, relieved but annoyed.

“Hey, calm down,” Iwai said as he reached into Akira’s bag without asking and took the gun back. “It’s just a model, but I’ve been making modifications to make it look and feel as real as possible. Custom order. Nothing dangerous, but it’s not entirely legal. Now why the police would know I have this, I’m not sure... but I might have a hunch.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry abo— damn it, Iwai. You got me into this. I could have been caught with what I would have been hard pressed to prove wasn’t a real gun. Stop treating me like a child, I at least deserve to know what’s going on!”

Iwai seemed to be considering something, and Akira waited anxiously. It was at least a minute before he finally seemed to come to a decision.

“You know what, you want so badly to prove you’re not a kid? Fine. I’ve got a job for you. Cancel our lesson next Thursday and meet me at the diner in Shibuya.”

Akira gaped at him. “Wait, really?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? In case it wasn’t clear, it’s not gonna be fully on the right side of the law. You can still back out if you want.”

Akira shook his head vehemently, grasping Iwai’s wrist tightly. “I’m in. Thanks, Iwai, you won’t regret this.”

Later that evening, Akira wondered what he’d gotten himself into. Iwai was all contradictions — he wasn’t “into that stuff anymore,” but he had an illegally modified gun in his backroom, had some sort of illicit business at the diner…. It sounded scary. It should have _been_ scary, especially in light of Akira’s fear of breaking the law. But somehow, Akira wasn’t afraid. No; if he was being quite honest, what he felt was closer to _excited_.

* * *

The job turned out to be fairly simple on Akira’s end; sit at a booth, turn on his phone, let Iwai listen in on a conversation. Nothing risky. The content of the conversation, though, that was a different story.

The other man, who Iwai called Masa, mentioned Iwai “beating up fifty gang members.” Akira could picture it; Iwai certainly had the body for it. But why would he have been beating up gang members at all? Then Iwai left, and the man called up a certain Tsuda, mentioning a deal that didn’t sound too legitimate. Akira couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but the information had seemed valuable to Iwai.

In any case, it definitely didn’t sound like Iwai was as far removed from his disreputable past as he’d implied. He tried to ask him about it the next time they met, but Iwai refused to answer.

“You did good in there, kid. I’m grateful for the help. But I’m not discussing this right now.”

“If you’d rather discuss it elsewhere, I know a nice bar where we can talk in peace,” Akira just about purred in reply. Iwai paused and he wondered if he’d overdone it. The red in his cheeks told him he hadn’t, but Iwai wasn’t to be so easily persuaded.

“No. I’ve gotta get home to my son.”

Akira felt the words like a slap, then immediately berated himself for reacting that way. Of course Iwai cared more about his son than about Akira. He didn’t expect otherwise; Iwai’s obvious love for his son was one of the things that Akira admired in him. But a small, selfish part of him was angry that he had to share Iwai’s attentions with anyone at all.

It must have shown on his face, because Iwai’s voice was uncharacteristically soft when he replied, “You know my son is my first priority.”

Akira dropped his head, ashamed, and changed the subject.

* * *

The week after, Iwai had a new job for him, sending him out into the streets of Shibuya to find a particular homeless man and ask him about any underground deals that might have gone down in the area. Akira felt a little foolish as he approached one person after another and got nothing but annoyed stares in response to his thinly veiled questions. Finally, he hit on the right guy, who told him about something that had gone down with the Hong Kong mafia, to the tune of about a hundred million yen.

Back in Untouchable, someone was talking with Iwai. Akira figured he’d wait out the customer, but was surprised to hear Iwai call him “Tsuda-san.” This was who the man at the diner had been talking to, then. When he listened a bit more, he noticed that it sounded like he was threatening Iwai — a suspicion that was confirmed when the man dropped Iwai’s son’s name, suggested “letting him in on Iwai’s little secret.” He didn’t say what the secret was, but by now Akira thought he had a pretty good idea.

Iwai was unsurprisingly angry when the man finally left, but Akira’s news seemed to cheer him back up. He clapped Akira on the shoulder, gratifying him with a “Nice job!”

Akira put his hand over Iwai’s, looking at him through lidded eyes. “Where’s my reward?” he asked as suggestively as he could manage.

Iwai drew his hand back with a laugh. “Anyone ever told you how demandin’ you are?”

* * *

There were no other side jobs over the next week, and Akira took advantage of their time together to escalate his flirting, culminating in pinning Iwai against the door of the shop as he “helped” him close up. It had rained outside, the floor was slippery, and who could blame Akira for losing his footing and falling against Iwai? As for his hands, bracketing Iwai’s head as he leaned against the wall — well, he’d just needed to catch his balance.

Their noses nearly touched, and Iwai was glaring at him, but his shortness of breath belied his true feelings about the situation.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” he growled.

Akira looked into his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. “Who says I’m playing?”

He wasn’t prepared for Iwai to push him off, grab his wrist and physically drag him to the back room, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Hell, kid, what do you think is going on with Tsuda? And the other day, back at the diner? Was all of that not enough of a hint? I know you’re not dumb, you must have figured it out by now.”

Akira had an inkling of the answer, it was true, but he waited in silence for Iwai to continue.

Iwai shoved up the sleeve of his turtleneck, revealing a toned arm covered in tattoos. “Why do you think I wear long sleeves and a turtleneck even in full summer? I’m an ex-Yakuza, ok. You shouldn’t associate with me.”

Akira reached out to brush his fingertips against the tattoos, tracing the edge of one. He drew back and replied, “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of,” with a nonchalant shrug.

“I’ve _killed_ someone,” Iwai spat out. “I’m pretty sure that goes past not feeling proud. Someone like me, who was only guilty of falling into the wrong crowd, and I killed him for no better reason than that I was ordered to.”

That did manage to startle Akira. He’d expected the Yakuza bit, but not the murder.

Iwai must have seen it in his expression, and he pushed on. “Now will you give this up?”

He thought about it. Did it change how he saw Iwai? It would have been lying to say it didn’t.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Huh?”

“Did you enjoy killing? Would you have killed anyone, if it hadn’t been an order? What would have happened if you hadn’t obeyed?”

“Of course I didn’t enjoy it. And I wouldn’t have done it without orders. But that doesn’t change the fact that I did.”

Akira didn’t miss the fact that Iwai had ignored his last question. He didn’t need to ask again to understand what the answer to that one was. How he saw Iwai might have changed, but how he felt about him hadn’t. 

“I always knew you were dangerous. You think that's gonna scare me off?”

“It should! You’ve got a home, university, a part-time job. A respectable life, no trouble with the law. Do you know how hard I’m working to try and get that for my son? And you’re willing to throw it all away for what, one hot night and a bad guy kink? Stop taking it for granted.”

Akira’d finally had enough.

“If you really think my interest in you is that shallow, then you’re not as smart as I’d thought. But a respectable, easy life? Is that what you think’s at stake here? What do you know of my life to judge it so easily, Iwai.” His voice was cold, the fiery anger he’d felt before replaced by ice. He’d lived through a nightmare, and like hell was he going to let Iwai act like he was some pampered child to be put under glass and admired from afar. At least Iwai seemed like he was willing to listen.

“Remember that scandal about six years ago, with the corrupt politician who was hiring hitmen to take down his opponents?”

“The one where he ended up being caught by his own bastard? Wasn’t there some sexual assault and child abuse accusations, too? That was a pretty messed up situation.”

“Yeah. The first case in the scandal was a teenager who got wrongly arrested, wasn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Iwai replied. “I remember that. The news kept running stories about them, and about how the police was in the politician’s pocket. Guess their age made it even worse in the public’s eye. What’s this got to do with anything, though?”

“Underage victims’ faces and names are kept secret, so no one ever found out who it was. It’s to protect them, supposedly. They’re thrown back out into the real world with the barest hint of an apology, and told to shut up and keep your mouth closed, for your own safety. But who protects you from the nightmares, when you wake up screaming and there’s no one to talk to? The only people who know are your parents, and how can you ever trust them again when they didn’t believe you, when they let you go into that room without a second glance?”

Iwai’s eyes widened as he understood what Akira was saying, and he opened his mouth but Akira spoke over him.

“You want to protect me, Iwai? To hide me from the evils of this world? Well, you’re five years and one interrogation room too late for it. I’m not your son. I have no interest in being anything _like_ a son to you. So you might as well start treating me like the adult I am.”

“What happened to you?” Iwai asked in a shallow voice.

“Does it matter? They wanted me to admit my guilt in court. It didn’t take too long for me to find their arguments persuasive.”

Iwai seemed outraged. “They’re not allowed to do that!”

“No, they’re not. But who was I going to complain to? _The police_?” Akira laughed mirthlessly.

“You could have—”

“I could have nothing. The bruises faded, I took the probation deal they offered me, came to live in Tokyo, and tried to make myself as ordinary and inconspicuous as possible. I got lucky and the guy got caught, so my record was wiped, but...records are easier to erase than memories. I guess I should be grateful to him, in a twisted way. I came to love living here, and I haven’t left since then.”

A hand landed on his shoulder, but Akira moved away from it, heading for the door. “It’s late, Iwai. Let’s go.”

It was obvious Iwai wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t push, following Akira outside and locking the door. As they were about to head their separate ways, Akira stopped, feeling there was one last thing he needed to say.

“I’ve never told anyone about this before, if you were still wondering how serious I am about you.”


	5. Arousal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful, I just changed the rating for this fic because of this chapter. Also uuuhhhh I don't normally write this sort of thing. At all. Forgive me if it's very very weird.

They didn’t talk about Akira’s past again. He wasn’t sure if it was because Iwai felt awkward about it, or out of respect for him; either way, he was grateful. He’d spent the night afterwards wondering if he had made a terrible mistake,  ashamed at the thought of Iwai knowing how weak he’d been.

* * *

> **Iwai** Kaoru’s at a sleepover, we can spend more time together today if you’d like.

Akira blinked at his phone, still half-asleep from his post-class nap and confused by what he’d just read. More time together? What did he mean… He finally pulled himself out of the fog of unconsciousness enough to understand the subtext of the message. Was Iwai suggesting they finally, finally spend some time together outside of Untouchable? He bit back a smile, wondering if telling Iwai his past had brought this on. It was worth the embarrassment, if so.

Jumping out of bed, he opened his closet. He was tempted to dress up, but what if Iwai just meant more time together in the shop and he just looked silly in his dress pants? Then again, what if Iwai  _ did _ mean it the way he hoped, and he looked like he didn’t care in his casual outfit?

He dithered for a while before finally settling on tight, dark jeans with boots and a deep red button up, slightly classier than his usual open shirt and tank top combo without being too over the top. A hand through his hair to tame it down from where it’d gone rogue during his nap and he was ready to head out. About to head downstairs, he turned back on impulse and left some food out for his cat. It was most likely very overconfident on his end to assume he wouldn’t be coming home that evening, but just in case, he would rather not have to worry about him going hungry.

Akira often showed up early to see Iwai these days, getting some extra time working on building and painting in the back room, so the fact that he was a good half hour early didn’t faze Iwai. Akira didn’t miss the look he gave him, though, a slow gaze his head to his feet and back up with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. His choice of outfit hadn’t been as discreet as he’d hoped, then. He raised a hand in greeting and slipped into their work room feeling silly and giddy, like a teenager going on their first date.

Their tutoring time passed by agonizingly slowly. When it was over at last, Iwai stretched as he stood.

“I seem to recall you mentioning a particular bar you liked?”

Akira bit back a grin. He hadn’t misunderstood the invitation, then. “Yeah. It’s over in Shinjuku, but it’s a good place.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

* * *

Akira toyed with the empty shot glasses littering the bar, arranging them in various shapes. Beside him, Iwai was telling a story about one of the first times he’d had to change Kaoru’s diaper to Lala-chan.

“So there I am, nineteen and no idea what I’m doing, but it can’t be that hard right? I’ve seen people doing it before, I figure it’ll be ok — and do you know what he does?!”

Lala was leaning forward on the bar, head resting on her hand like she’d never heard a more captivating story. “What?”

“He peed in my face! I gave everything up for him and he _peed in my face_ , Lala!”

They both burst into loud laughter, Iwai hitting the bar with his fist, and Akira grabbed his beer to keep it from toppling over. This was not how he’d expected the evening to go. As soon as they’d gotten to the bar, Lala’d started flirting with Iwai, setting shot after shot in front of him, that Iwai had gladly knocked back. It turned out that drunk Iwai was a lot more talkative than sober Iwai, and he and Lala had been trading stories and laughing together for the past hour, Akira just about forgotten to the side. This whole evening was shaping up to be a disaster, and Akira was considering cutting his losses and just heading home. It didn’t seem like either of them would notice, at this point.

He didn’t realise how loud his sigh had been until he looked up to see Lala-chan staring at him and looking mildly worried.

“Hey, Akira, can you come over here for a minute?” she asked as she pointed to the far end of the bar. “Ichiko left something the other day, I was thinking you could bring it back to her for me.”

That… made no sense at all. The only place Akira ever met Ohya, the drunk journalist, was in this bar. She just about lived here; he’d been surprised not to see her when he’d walked in, as a matter of fact.

In front of him, Lala gave an insistent nod of her head, mouthing “c’mon” at him. Akira stood and followed her.

Once they were out of earshot, Lala leaned towards him and quietly said, “Are you alright? You don’t look happy to be here.”

Akira looked over at Iwai resentfully. “Let’s say this wasn’t the evening I was hoping for.”

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Lala immediately understood what he was hinting at; bartending often turned into free psychology analysis, as Akira’d learned from his short stint working in a bar the summer after high school.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I thought you two were just friends, I didn’t realise you were here on a date!”

“We’re not… It’s complicated.” Judging by how the night had unfolded, maybe it wasn’t even that complicated. _He’s just not that into you_ , he thought bitterly.

“I’ll lay off the flirting. You picked a good looking one,” she said with a wink as she headed back.

Iwai dropped an arm heavily over his shoulders when he sat down again. “You two done telling secrets then?” Without leaving Akira time to deny that they’d been doing such a thing, he launched into a new story. Akira listened with half an ear, a bit overwhelmed by the physical contact, as Iwai rambled on.

He’d tuned out the stories, so he didn’t realise right away when Iwai’s stories drifted away from “funny stories about kids,” but the name of a Yakuza clan startled him back into focus.

"So then th’s guy from my clan, he doesn't — doesn’t real’se — that’s a lieut’nan's kid he just stole candy from! " Akira turned wide-eyes on Iwai. He'd taken months to admit that he used to be Yakuza, he always hid his tattoos — what was he doing shouting about it in a bar for all to hear?

"Hey, Iwai. Hey." Iwai quieted down and looked at him. "I think it's time I took you home, ok? You're drunk."

"I'm f'nnne," the older man slurred.

"Well, I'm tired and I want to get home," Akira said, hoping that would convince him.

Iwai seemed to be more motivated by that. "You should'a said so b'fore! Let's gooo," he said, standing unsteadily.

Akira quickly stood as well, putting an arm around Iwai's waist to stabilize him. "Thanks, Lala-chan. I'll see you soon."

"Always a pleasure, Akira. Good luck!" Lala replied with a wink as she scooped up the glasses they'd left behind and set to cleaning them.

Once they'd made it outside, it was obvious to Akira that he couldn't leave Iwai to get home alone; the man could barely walk on his own, and now that they were out of the bar he seemed to be losing energy quickly.

Akira headed for the subway, prompting Iwai to ask, "Where are we going?"

"Subway. You need to tell me where you live."

"What? No, no subway. Call a taxi," Iwai complained.

Akira considered ignoring him, but it didn't seem like Iwai had any issues with cash and he couldn't say he was looking forward to half-carrying him all the way through the subway stations, if he even managed to handle stairs. His wide, muscular build was attractive, but it was also  _ heavy. _

* * *

The taxi ride was uneventful, apart from Iwai falling asleep against Akira's shoulder and jolting back up each time the car moved a bit sharply. Iwai was lucid enough when they arrived to pay the taxi himself, sparing Akira the awkwardness of having to find his wallet himself. He still seemed unsteady, although much less so than before, and Akira kept an arm under his shoulders as they walked up the steps to the apartment.

When they got to the front door, Akira hesitated for a moment before withdrawing his arm. He made as if to leave, now that Iwai was safely home, but Iwai caught his wrist. 

"Hey, you want to come inside for tea before you go?" he asked.

Akira looked at Iwai’s hand where it touched him. He knew he was setting himself up to get hurt, but then again, there was no way he was going to turn down the offer, even if it didn't mean what he wanted it to mean. "I'd like that, yeah."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting quietly side-by-side on Iwai's couch each holding a steaming mug in their hands.

"So, I hope you had a good time tonight," Akira said awkwardly, trying to break the silence.

"I guess," Iwai replied distractedly.

"Looked like you and Lala-chan got on well." 

He'd thought he'd managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but Iwai asked, "Are you  _ jealous  _ of her?"

Akira didn't reply, which he knew was as obvious as just saying yes, but he didn't feel like lying just then.

Iwai put his cup down on the coffee table, then shifted over to sit closer to Akira, wrapping an arm around him and whispering in his ear. "You've got nothing to be jealous of."

Akira tried to suppress the shiver that Iwai's breath on his ear had caused. "You two seemed pretty friendly."

"She was nice to talk to, but I don't want to fuck Lala-chan."

Akira spat the sip of tea he'd just taken back into his cup, turning to stare at Iwai. " _What?!_ "

"I don't want to take Lala-chan's clothes off and bend her over the counter in the shop and—"

"Iwai??" Akira interrupted before that sentence could go any further.

"I don't know how you can think you’ve got anything to be jealous of," Iwai replied casually, and his lips were just inches away and Akira knew, he knew perfectly well he shouldn't do what he was about to do. Iwai was drunk, he'd never have said any of those things sober, would never have let Akira get so close. Yet Akira was selfish and he wanted, he wanted so much and it was right there and he leaned forward and without thinking about it any further, he  _ took. _

It lasted only an instant before Iwai stumbled back, the heat of his lips fading just as quickly. "Kid, I—"

But Iwai was like a drug, and Akira'd had a hit and he couldn't stop here, couldn't stop now.

"I'm not a kid. Didn't we go over this?"

He pushed himself up on the couch and forward, hands on the armrest behind Iwai's head as he leaned down to kiss him again. This time Iwai kissed back, harsh and rough and hungry, and Akira let himself forget that it was the alcohol talking, pushing back just as intensely.

He drew back, intending to take a breath, and Iwai suddenly slid his arms around him and picked him up as though he weighed nothing. "Fine. You're not a kid. Message received, _Akira._ "

Akira gulped loudly. Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer arousal he’d felt hearing his own name on Iwai's lips. He wanted to rip the man's shirt off right then and there, not just his shirt really, and judging by the way Iwai carried him off and dumped him onto a bed, the feeling was shared.

Iwai followed him onto the bed, pinning his wrists against the mattress. "This is what you wanted?"

Akira could only nod mutely. He wasn't a virgin, but never before had he been with someone who could so obviously overpower him. Iwai's hands on his wrists weren't some cute control roleplay; Akira couldn't have budged him if he’d tried. It was incredibly arousing, and Akira's body responded, his hips jerking up slightly. Iwai looked down to where his pants couldn't conceal how he felt and smiled appreciatively. This was yet another facet of Iwai; turned on, powerful, in charge, and Akira wondered how many people got to see this one. 

Iwai leaned down, pressing more kisses against his mouth and disrupting his track of thought. When he pulled back Akira was panting, the throbbing in his tight jeans too much to take.

“Iwai— Mune— please—”

“Please what?”

“Can I take my pants off, please,” Akira begged.

“I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”

Akira wiggled his hands. “You kind of are.”

Iwai laughed and withdrew his hands, working Akira’s pants open himself, pulling them down his legs until Akira could kick them fully off. His hands slid back up Akira’s legs, stopping to brush softly at the crease of his hips.

Being free of his pants was a relief, but Akira was suddenly aware of how exposed he was now, only a thin layer of fabric that concealed very little left between him and Iwai’s hands. He felt his face heating up. One of Iwai’s hands went to his jaw, turning him this way and that as he inspected him.

“That’s a good color on you,” he commented, deepening Akira’s blush. His hand drifted back down, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. Akira reached forward while he did so, tugging at the hem of Iwai’s turtleneck. It wasn’t fair for only one of them to be undressed.

“Eager, are you?”

That wasn’t fair, he wasn’t any more eager than Iwai, but then Iwai was leaning back to pull the sweater off, and Akira had other preoccupations than fairness. He pushed himself up onto his knees, reaching for Iwai’s body first with his hands, then unable to resist, pushing forward to kiss the tattoos that littered his torso, his shoulders, his arms. He was too distracted to notice Iwai continuing to unbutton his shirt, too distracted to notice the hands roaming over his chest, too distracted to notice fingers sliding under the waistband of his boxers — 

Definitely not too distracted to notice the hand wrapping around him and _pulling_. His breath came out in a shuddering rush, head dropping back to look at Iwai.

“Too much?” Iwai asked, his hand drawing away, and Akira grabbed his wrist to hold him in place.

“No. No,” he replied breathlessly. “I know how to say stop, so unless I do, please… don’t… stop,” he could barely stammer out as Iwai’s hand started moving against him. It was as skilled and as delicate as when he put together models, and Akira would never be able to watch him work again without thinking of tonight but there were worst fates, he thought, steadying himself on Iwai’s shoulders.

Iwai noticed and pushed him back down onto the bed, hovering over him with one arm above his head while the other continued to stroke at the same steady speed. He started going faster, but the boxers constrained his hand, prompting Akira to raise his hips and shove them down. Iwai looked at him and he fidgeted, feeling too bare, too visible, but Iwai bent forward a bit and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, stilling him.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered. Akira was too embarrassed and out of breath to reply — beautiful? really? — and settled for clenching the fabric of the sheets beneath him, closing his eyes and trying not to let the sensations overwhelm him too quickly.

Despite his best efforts, Akira only managed to hold on for a few more minutes before he had to grab Iwai’s wrist to stop him. Iwai looked at him questioningly, and he gritted his teeth as he tried to speak around the fog of arousal in his head.

“This is… great. Really great. But if you keep going it’s going to be over much more quickly than I was hoping for,” he panted. Iwai chuckled at those words and sat back on his knees. 

After a few more breaths, Akira was a little more clear-headed and managed to sit back up, hands going to Iwai’s pants. “Let me return the favor.”

Iwai let him unbuckle his pants, then stood to pull them off, removing his boxers along with them. If Akira had thought Iwai looked good dressed, it was nothing compared to Iwai naked. Akira had an okay opinion of himself; he wasn’t the best looking guy in the world, but he had a pretty good body, even some muscle definition now that Ryuji dragged him to the gym on a regular basis. But Iwai… Iwai looked like a greek statue from a museum, with one small (large) exception. Every bit of him was toned, muscle rippling beneath taut skin, and Akira had a fleeting regret that he didn’t have his friend Yusuke’s skill in art, because he’d definitely found his muse. Then he let his eyes drift to the centerpiece of the view, so to speak, and found his throat going dry. Akira wasn’t an expert, but from his limited experience, he could definitely say that Iwai was…  _ sizeable. _

He moved to stand next to Iwai without conscious thought, drawn forward as though by a magnet. When his fingers curled around Iwai, though, he found himself dissatisfied. This wasn’t enough, he wanted more, he wanted… he dropped to his knees.

“Can I?” he asked, tilting his head up to look at Iwai.

Iwai looked surprised, but not unhappy. “Like hell am I gonna say no to that,” he replied as he leaned his hands back against the dresser behind him.

There was no way Akira could have fit him entirely in his mouth, but judging by the gasps and sighs Iwai was letting out, what he was managing was more than adequate. When Iwai’s hands came to tangle in his hair, he moaned around him, but he still wanted more. This was good, but still not enough.

He pulled back and Iwai looked down at him, eyes adrift and mouth agape. It was one of the best things Akira’d ever seen.

“Akira,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Why’d you stop?”

“I want you inside me,” Akira replied without thinking, blushing when he realised how forward he’d been.

Iwai pulled him to his feet, and Akira smiled at how startled he looked. “Wait, really?”

Akira bit his lip. It was going very far, very fast, but… he really, really wanted it. Grabbing Iwai by the back of the neck, he drew their faces together until their noses touched.

“Fuck me, Mune,” he hissed. There was a flash of something in Iwai’s eyes, followed by a lazy smirk.

“Well, if you ask me like that.” His hands came to rest on Akira’s shoulders and without warning, he spun him around and threw him against the bed, the air rushing out of his lungs as his chest hit the mattress, legs dangling over the side. Akira tried to turn around to look at Iwai, before powerful hands pressed him back down.

“Don’t move, or I’ll tie you up.”

Akira shuddered at the words. He’d never realised how much this whole loss of control thing turned him on, but it wasn’t a bad discovery at all. He played with the idea of moving again and making Iwai act on his promise, but figured they could save that for another time.

Behind him, satisfied that Akira wasn’t going anywhere, Iwai withdrew his hands. He heard a few short steps followed by a drawer opening, and before Akira could imagine too many options for what Iwai had been getting, there was a pop and a slick, wet sound. Right, lube. He’d forgotten about that.

Iwai was back, shoving a knee between his legs, spreading him open. He squirmed a bit at how very naked he felt, cool air brushing against parts of him normally hidden. It took all he had to keep his hips still as Iwai pressed closer, warm and throbbing and hard against his ass.

“Are you sure about this?”

Okay, asking for consent was a good thing, but Akira was pretty sure he’d more than given it by this point.

“God, Mune, please just  _ do it _ already,” he whined, his voice so needy he might have felt embarrassed at any other time, but right now there wasn’t space for anything but desire in his head.

“Alright,” Iwai hummed as he pulled away, and then he was pushing in and the world narrowed down to one single spot of consciousness that Akira surrendered to willingly. The pain, the pleasure, the overwhelming closeness, all of it mixed together in a delirious blur. He heard Iwai groan behind him, underneath the sounds of their bodies, calling out his name — his real name, "Akira," not "kid", in that raw and broken voice, and he thought he'd never get tired of hearing it. It had been a heartbeat or perhaps an eternity, when at last Iwai pushed in one final time, hard, and came with a shudder inside of him that broke through the last of his own control, bringing all of the feelings floating in his head together in a sharp spike of ecstasy.

There was a half-hearted attempt at cleaning up some time later, when they'd regained control of their limbs and breaths and thoughts, and then they fell into each other's arms, asleep before there could be any words, any regrets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's one more chapter before we're done here. Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Surrender

Akira awoke before dawn the next day, blinking into the unfamiliar dark. It took him a moment to remember the events of the previous night, to identify the warm presence at his back as being much larger than his cat. He hadn’t expected to wake up in Iwai’s bed after their first night out together. He hadn’t thought to be so lucky. He turned towards the man in question, his eyes having adapted to the darkness enough to make out the outline of his head against the pillow.

Tracing the tips of his fingers over his silvery hair, Akira smiled as he recalled their evening. Before he could get distracted, he pulled away and slid quietly out of bed to look for his cell phone.

Finding it in his discarded jeans, tossed at the foot of the bed, he turned it on and barely suppressed a moan. He’d thought he had a few hours of sleep left, but it was only about an hour before his usual alarm; if he wanted time to go home and change before class, he’d need to leave just around now. At least he’d woken up in time to do so, as annoying as it was.

Not wanting to wake Iwai, he only dropped a soft kiss on his forehead before slipping out of the bedroom with his clothes. He changed and was yawning on the subway within ten minutes. At least it was quiet this early in the morning, few people around to see his sweaty, disheveled self. He laughed to himself as he realised this was basically the equivalent of the “walk of shame” Ryuji had told him about, with the exception that he felt absolutely no shame over what had happened.

Realising Iwai might wonder where he’d gone, he sent him a quick text.

> **Akira** Sorry I had to leave so early, morning classes today. You looked too comfortable for me to wake you up. 

He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for texting someone the morning after you’d just had sex. “Thanks” seemed a little too formal, “I had fun” way too childish, and Iwai wasn’t a heart-emoji kind of guy. In the end, he settled for telling him he couldn’t wait to see him again, and changing his name in his phone.

Classes passed in a half-asleep blur, and it wasn’t until Akira was back home that evening that he realised he hadn’t heard from Iwai all day. He checked his phone, turned it off and back on, but no. Nothing. 

> **Akira** Are you alright?

He tried to start on his homework, but couldn’t seem to focus, feeling phantom vibrations from his phone every few minutes. When it finally buzzed he nearly jumped out of his chair, startling his cat who headed to his hiding spot in the closet with a decidedly annoyed swish of his tail.

> **Mune** I’m so sorry, I haven’t been drunk in a very long time. I didn’t think I would lose my control so badly, not that it’s an excuse.
> 
> Please forgive me.

_ What. The. Hell. _

Akira picked up the phone and called Iwai, only to hear the busy signal. He slammed his phone back against the desk.

> **Akira** Call me.

It was another ten very impatient minutes before his phone rang. 

“Akira, I — “

“How dare you apologize for last night? I wasn’t —”

“Akira, please, I promise we’ll talk about this later but right now I need your help, I just got a call about the deal you were investigating for me and I need to go meet someone but Kaoru’s waiting for me at the diner and his phone ran out of battery and will you please, please go get him I swear I will make it up to you but I have to go, right now,” Iwai replied in a single breath, sounding as stressed as Akira’d ever heard him. He blinked at the onslaught of words, trying to make sense of what Iwai was asking.

“Yeah, ok, breathe. I’ll go. But we have got to talk about this later, ok?”

“ _Thank you_ , I swear we will, I’ll call you later,” and then there was only the beep of a dead line as he hung up.

Akira grabbed his phone and wallet, wondering what had Iwai so on edge. Despite his involvement, Iwai hadn’t actually explained what was going on, but clearly it had to be something big. Well, talking about that would have to wait until they’d discussed last night. Akira couldn’t believe that after all that Iwai was  _ still  _ trying to keep his distance. It was clear they both wanted each other, so what exactly was the hold-up?

He made it to the diner a short time later, where it came to his attention that he had no idea what Kaoru looked like. He considered looking for someone who resembled Iwai, and barely held back a laugh at the idea of a pre-teen with Iwai’s wide, muscular build and greying hair.

Luckily for him, every table held a group except for one where a boy in a school uniform sat alone. He walked over.

“Are you Kaoru?”

The boy looked at him, surprised.

“Um, yes?”

“I’m Akira, I work with your dad at Untouchable. He’s got to finish an important special order for a customer so he asked me to come and check on you, since your phone’s dead.”

“Oh! Pleased to meet you, Akira-san.”

“It’s just Akira,” he said as he slid into the opposite side of the booth. “Do you wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.” He really was; he hadn’t eaten all day, choosing to forgo lunch in exchange of a short nap on a lecture hall bench.

“If it’s ok with my dad…” Kaoru replied uncertainly.

“Oh, right, let me tell him I’m here with you.” Akira pulled out his phone and tapped in a short message, saying he’d found Kaoru and all was well. “Did you want to say anything to him?”

“No, it’s ok. I hope he can still make it,” Kaoru replied in a forlorn voice.

Akira sent the message and put his phone down. Something didn’t seem right. “Hey, are you ok?”

“It’s… my dad, um… has he said anything to you? About me… weighing him down?”

That was  _ not _ what Akira had been expecting. “No, nothing even close.”

Kaoru explained, eyes downcast, that his dad had been avoiding him, had even mentioned him on the phone a few times. Akira figured this had to do with the deal and Tsuda. It was clear this was impacting him, probably more than Iwai was aware of. He couldn’t imagine he would have let him worry if he’d known, considering how much he loved his son.

“I’m not sure if you know this, but… he’s not my real father.”

Akira raised his head in surprise. Now that, he did not know. He’d assumed Kaoru was Iwai’s, but it was rare for fathers to get custody, wasn’t it? Rarer yet for fathers in the Yakuza. Kaoru mentioned a car crash and Iwai taking him in after his parents’ death, but somehow he doubted the story was as simple as that. He’d have to ask about this, too. The talk they had to have was growing longer by the minute.

“I wonder if my dad even considers me to be a part of his family…” 

He sounded so sad that Akira almost reached out to hold his hand without thinking. Poor kid, caught in the middle of this messed-up situation. He wanted to reassure him, but he had a feeling these words would have to come from Iwai to hold any value for Kaoru. It looked like Akira wasn’t the only person Iwai needed to be more honest with.

“You should ask him. But for what it’s worth, I think he definitely does.”

Kaoru perked up a bit at that, and Akira took the opportunity to pull out a menu. “So, what do you wanna get?”

“Can we get… fries? And Frui-T!”

“Sure,” Akira replied, flagging down a waitress to place their order. He got curry for himself; this wasn’t the best place in town to get it, but it was filling and cheap, both important considerations for a university student.

While they waited for their food, they chatted easily about school, Akira remembering his own middle school days. They seemed both so close and so far, images so crisp they could have been from a few days ago and yet so distant, like a story that had happened to somebody else.

Their food arrived and Kaoru grabbed his Fruit-T excitedly. “Dad never lets me get this!”

“Oh?” Oops.

“Yeah, he says I don’t need to be thinking about charming anybody right now, I have to focus on my studies,” Kaoru replied, sullen. “I don’t see why I can’t do both.”

Akira laughed. Well, if Kaoru suddenly started bringing home dates every night after this, he supposed he’d have to apologize to Iwai.

“You’re right. Nothing wrong with a little romance. But don’t forget to keep your grades up!”

“Dad tells me _all the time_ , I’m not likely to forget… Oh, hey! Did he ever tell you about his gecko?”

Akira raised an eyebrow. “His tattoo?”

“Yeah! He got it because, uh… look!” Kaoru tugged his shirt’s neckline down a bit, revealing a scar on his neck. “I got this from the accident, and when I was little people at school would always make fun of me for it. So he got a tattoo in the same place. It’s our family crest!”

“That’s awesome,” Akira replied, smiling. Iwai acted like such a tough guy, but he really was a complete softie when it came to his son.

The rest of their meal passed easily, and Akira was wondering if he’d need to bring Kaoru back home when Iwai showed up with a wide grin on his face.

“Yo, sorry for the holdup,” he said as he slid into the booth next to Kaoru. “Did you two have a good time?”

Kaoru nodded. “Yeah, Akira’s pretty cool! Did you finish that special order?”

Iwai threw a sideways glance at Akira, but replied, “Yep, all done. So what were you two talking about?”

“Girls,” Akira replied, dead-pan, drawing a snort from Iwai.

“Fine, I won’t pry. Hey, wait,” he said as he picked up Kaoru’s empty glass and sniffed it. “Is that Frui-T?”

Akira gave him an apologetic shrug and handed him the bill. “Here, why don’t you go order something for yourself and pay for us?”

Iwai took the bill, giving Akira a flat stare before shaking the expression off with a chuckle. “Yeah, I guess that’s fine. I’ll be right back, then.”

Iwai returned with coffee for himself and Akira, as well as some tea — charm not included — for Kaoru, and they spent a while longer talking together. Iwai’s love for his son was even more obvious when they were together; he looked at him with glowing pride, laughed at all his jokes, listened attentively to the most insignificant stories. Akira’s mind wandered back to the doubts Kaoru had expressed earlier, and determined to make sure Iwai spoke to him; it was obvious there was a communication error there.

As they headed out, Akira pulled Iwai aside. “About that talk.”

“Not right now,” Iwai hissed.

“You promised!”

“I know, and we will, just — I have to take Kaoru home right now. Tomorrow at the usual time?”

Akira sighed heavily. “Alright.”

* * *

When Akira walked in the next day, Iwai had the back room set up with books and pencils as if they were going to have the usual lessons. Akira looked at it in disbelief, then stacked everything up in a corner of the table.

“Yeah, we’re not doing that today.”

“I...figured,” Iwai replied quietly.

“What is up with you? You ignored me, now you’re acting like someone kicked your puppy because I want to talk about it… I don’t get it! I wasn’t looking for a one night stand, and it didn’t seem to me like you were, either!”

Iwai rubbed at his forehead, wincing. “I’m sorry for ignoring you. I just couldn’t figure out how to apologize for taking advantage of you.”

“Huh? What exactly do you think happened the other night?”

“You were drunk and I forced myself on you!”

Akira rolled his eyes with a sigh. “I was definitely not drunk, I had half a beer. Hell, if anyone should worry about taking advantage it’s me. You’re the one could barely stand when I took you home.”

“Still, I should have known better.”

“I was a more than willing and aware participant, ok? Why are you so determined to make this harder than it’s got to be?” Akira asked, catching Iwai’s hand in his own. To his dismay Iwai drew it back, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Are you really going to act like this isn’t something we both want?!” Akira was reaching the breaking point; there was only so much he could take, and Iwai’s silence in answer to his question was clear; even after that night together, after everything they’d shared, he’d pull back behind his walls, act like there was something wrong about them being together. Akira couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t bear to live through another day of the ridiculous dance they’d been doing for the last few months. He suppressed his urge to lash out and punch something, squashed it down because there was no point in trying to fight, not when Iwai had decided there would be no winning. The game was rigged and Akira was through playing it.

“You know what? Fine. I’m done. I’ve fought for you, I’ve done everything I could to convince you of my affection and you’ve thrown it all back in my face time and time again. I kept trying because I thought you wanted the same thing but at this point, I don’t care anymore. It clearly doesn’t matter to you what we feel for each other, and I can’t keep doing this. I just — I can’t. Goodbye, Mune."

Willing his hands to stop shaking, he grabbed his bag and walked out, making it as far as the subway entrance before he sagged down to the ground in a corner, tears streaming down his face despite his efforts to wipe them away. He’d hoped Iwai would run after him, hoped but hadn’t expected it, and yet the fact that he hadn’t still hurt so much. Leaving was the right decision. Knowing that didn’t make it any less painful.

He’d really thought there was something there; had let himself imagine an endless string of soft Sunday mornings in each other’s arms, had entertained the thought of spending more time with Kaoru and being given his own gecko in time, his own mark of family. And then again, thinking back on it, Iwai had never suggested that any of that was an option. In fact, it was only when he’d been so drunk he could barely walk that he’d given in to Akira’s advances.

Akira leaned his forehead against the tiled wall, shame and regret blending with sadness. He’d stormed out like he had a right to it, but really it should have been Iwai kicking him out for what he’d done. He really had taken advantage of Iwai — and just because Iwai had enjoyed it didn’t change the fact that Akira knew he’d never have agreed to it sober. Now he had neither love nor friendship and no one to blame for it but himself.

When a subway employee came by and asked rather deliberately if he needed any help, he forced himself to get up and head home. He toyed with his phone, considered calling Ann; she always knew what to say to make people feel better when it came to emotional problems. But when he unlocked it, his conversation with Iwai appeared, reminding him that he didn’t deserve to feel better.

* * *

The next few days were difficult. Every time his phone buzzed he hoped against all logic that it would be Iwai, and every time he was disappointed. His friends sent him messages — “Are you ok?” “We haven’t heard from you lately!” “Get more sleep, that’s the third class you fall asleep in today!” — to which he responded with terse apologies, suggesting some sort of vague illness that had him feeling out of it. They accepted his excuses, and so he was left to sit alone in his bedroom that Friday evening, studying in the dim light of his desk lamp.

Exasperated at his inability to focus, he laid his head down right onto his textbook, allowing himself to drift off into some sort of half-sleep, when his phone started buzzing on the desk next to him. As much as he wanted it to be he knew it wasn’t going to be Iwai, just like it hadn’t been any of the previous times, so he let it ring. He didn’t want to talk to anyone just now anyway. The buzzing stopped after a few seconds, but it was immediately replaced by the short vibration of text messages, one after the other. Whoever it was clearly wasn’t going to stop until he answered, so he reluctantly dragged his head off the table to check.

One missed call: Iwai. Five new messages.

He was instantly awake again. Of course the  _ one _ time he ignored his phone, it had to be him. The messages were alarming, asking Akira to call back right away, that Iwai needed him. Did he need help with Kaoru again? A clean break would have been easier, but Akira wasn’t going to ignore Iwai’s call for help. He called back, Iwai picking up on the first ring.

“What do you need?”

“I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but I need a huge favor and I ain’t got anyone else than you. I’d just go alone, but I wouldn’t put it past him to get rid of me without a witness. Was a time I woulda just gone by myself and risks be damned... I’ve gotta think of Kaoru now, though. If I die it’s not just my problem anymore. Anyway, there’s no way he’s given up on the code so completely that he’d do anything with a civilian around, which is where you come in.”

“...Ok, back up. What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Tsuda asked to meet me under the girder bridge tonight. I want you to come as my witness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time and not the most interesting. Next one will make up for it!
> 
> Also yeah guess what I lied there's 1 more chapter, maybe 1 + an epilogue. Will lod ever learn to write concisely? Signs point to no ;)


	7. Pain

Iwai stood in the sickly yellow light, head cast down. The roar of cars passing by above could be heard, but here it was quiet and lonely, no streets or houses anywhere nearby. Akira understood why Iwai had suspected foul play. The setting certainly suited it.

As he got closer, Iwai’s head jerked up at the sound of his steps. It was too dark to see him outside the pool of light under the bridge, and Akira could see the slightest edge of nerves in Iwai. It wasn’t that he looked worried — the only times Akira had seen him give in to such visible weakness were when they were alone together. Here, Iwai’s face hardened, his stance becoming a bit more aggressive, muscles tensing like a tiger ready to attack.

“Hello, Mune,” he called out, and Iwai’s shoulders sagged back down the tiniest bit, a movement that would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but Akira had spent too long observing him to miss it.

He drew up next to him, and Iwai put a hand on his shoulder in greeting.

“Thank you for coming, Akira.”

It had only been a few days and despite that his touch, his voice, stabbed through Akira with the pain of memory. In that instant he was ready to take it all back, to suffer through all the half-hearted rejections in the world if it meant getting to see Iwai, getting to talk to him. He bit back what he wanted to say, though, focusing on the situation at hand.

“So, what are we doing here?”

“Like I told you earlier, meeting Tsuda. That mafia deal you got me intel on a few weeks back? While you were at the diner with Kaoru, I found out it was actually a weapon deal that fell through, and Tsuda’s the one who made it. Somehow he’s managed to keep the fact that it failed from getting out and now he’s trying to find a way to save his ass. The other day in the shop, he was trying to force me to make him really convincing fakes. I understand why now. He called me again today, trying to pressure me to deliver faster and I told him I knew about the deal. I thought he’d calm down, leave me alone. Instead he told me he’d heard I was sticking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted and that if I wanted to see Kaoru alive again, I’d come down here tonight.”

“He has Kaoru?” Akira asked, aghast.

“He wasn’t at cram school or at his friends’ and he’s not answering his cell phone. I have to believe they do,” Iwai replied, and though his tough appearance didn’t waver, the anguish in his quiet words was heartbreaking.  _ That bastard. _ Akira felt his own lips set in a line, anger coursing through him.

“We’re gonna get him back, and then we’re gonna make Tsuda regret ever touching him,” he replied, hands balling up into fists.

“I just… wanted to give him a good life. That’s all I wanted to do.”

Akira squeezed Iwai’s hand. “He’s gonna be ok.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s not,” Iwai said, squeezing back. “I’m really sorry for dragging you into this. I didn’t want to call you, but I don’t have anyone else I trust enough for something like this. For what it’s worth, I really think you’re perfectly safe. Not even Tsuda would make the mistake of harming a civilian.”

“I’m glad you called. Especially if they have Kaoru.”

“Thanks. Listen, when he gets here, let me do the talking. We used to be partners, way back when. I hope he’ll be reasonable.”

“When’s he supposed to get here?”

Iwai checked his watch. “A few more minutes.”

They waited side by side in tense silence. Every rustling leaf or cracking branch had Akira nearly jumping out of his skin. Next to him, Iwai didn’t move, and Akira was uncomfortably aware that this wasn’t Iwai’s first brush with danger by any means. When footsteps finally came out of the darkness, it was only the soft brush of Iwai’s fingertips against his wrist that kept him from letting out a gasp.

Tsuda didn’t seem too happy to see Akira. “Who’s this? Wait, that’s the brat from your shop, isn’t it? I should’ve known he was working for you!”

Iwai took a half step forward. “Don’t mind him, he’s here as my witness. Now listen. I’d be glad to keep my mouth shut about your failed deal… if you tell me where Kaoru is, right now, and you promise to stay the fuck away from our family. And that includes this kid here,” Iwai said with a nod towards Akira.

Tsuda replied something about sticking to the codes, and although it had a veneer of respect, Akira could hear a sneer of mockery laced through the words. Tsuda went on, sounding calm, reminiscing about old times with Iwai. Akira was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Tsuda apologized to him for dragging him into this, he had to admit that maybe this had just turned out to be much easier than it had seemed.

The conversation slowed down after some time, and Iwai spoke. “Well, Tsuda-san, this whole thing has been a real goddamn pain in the ass… but it’s over. Give me back my son, and we can go our respective ways.”

The change in Tsuda was instantaneous, vile hatred coating his features, lending a venomous tone to his voice. “I don’t think you understand, Mune…”

He reached up, hand going into his jacket and before Akira could move there was a gun pointing at Iwai, its shape so familiar to him now after months in the shop and yet so different in the deadly promise it held. Akira’s breath caught, and even Iwai’s stoicism broke as he stepped back in surprise.

“You’re not the one who gets to make the decisions around here!”

“The hell’re you doing?!” Iwai asked, clearly shaken by this turn of events. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tsuda! Just give me back my son!”

Iwai took a step forward and Akira saw the hesitation and the fear in Tsuda’s eyes, the trembling of his arm. Trapped animals often turned aggressive, lashed out in a last bid to save themselves when they thought they faced death. Tsuda’s claws, though, would leave a much more permanent mark than most animals’. They needed to get away before he snapped, but there wasn’t anywhere to hide, not here in this barren no man’s land; they could have tried to run into the dark, but that would have meant turning their back to the man with the gun, and Akira knew Iwai wouldn’t leave without Kaoru anyway.

Iwai and Tsuda were staring at each other, a game of chicken that neither was willing to lose; Akira was witness to it all but clearly Tsuda wasn’t that worried about being seen shooting Iwai. Iwai had said Tsuda would think twice about shooting a civilian, though. Akira knew what he had to do. This was their only chance. Before he could overthink it, he moved for the first time since Tsuda had gotten here and stepped in front of Iwai.

Tsuda jumped, startled, and now his gun was focused at his chest. Behind him Iwai grabbed his jacket.

“Akira, don’t be —”

“Stop bluffing,” Akira said with a cold voice filled with a confidence he didn’t feel. “I know it would be more trouble to you than it’s worth to shoot a civilian like me.” He glared at Tsuda, and Tsuda’s arm dropped a bit, letting Akira think this would end here—

And the unthinkable happened.

A loud crack, a flash of light and then the feeling of something like a baseball slamming into his side, sending him stumbling back into Iwai. He felt lightheaded, confused, like there was something obvious he was missing and he looked down and oh

blood

so much blood

_ his blood _

It seemed like a problem. He’d probably be needing that, he thought incoherently, reaching a shaky hand up to try to keep it where it belonged. Distantly he heard pounding footsteps and someone shouting, but his fingers found their mark and as they brushed against torn flesh the world screamed, or maybe that was just him. Pain stormed his body, a jealous mistress allowing no distractions, no other thoughts than of her, flashing hot and cold and stabbing like a thousand jagged knives. “ _ Mine _ ,” she shouted, asserting her control over him, and there was nothing to be done but to submit, willing or not.

His legs gave out, but hands caught him, lowered him gently to the ground.

“I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt but I have to do it,” someone — Iwai, he realised, consciousness returning to him — said in a halting, breathless voice. He didn’t have time to wonder what was gonna hurt before something was pressing down against his side, ripping a scream from his throat as pain flashed white-hot again.

It subsided somewhat after a time, and Akira realised Iwai was calling his name and holding his hand against some sort of fabric. He was crying, tears falling heavy and wet onto Akira’s hand.

“Akira? Aki — can you hear me?”

“Ye…” Forming an entire word seemed beyond him.

“You need to hold this down for a minute so I can call an ambulance, ok?” Iwai’s voice was soft through the shuddering breaths he drew, as though he were talking to a child.

Akira obeyed as best he could. A thought crossed his mind and he reached out with his other hand to bat down his phone.

“Not… not an ambulance. They’ll tell the police.”

“That’s a problem for later, I’m not letting you die here,” Iwai said, holding the phone back up.

Akira pawed feebly at his jeans pocket, managing to draw out his phone and hand it to Iwai. “The code’s 0409, call Takemi… tell her everything.”

“You need an emergency room, not a local doctor!”

“Trust me. ”

Iwai glared down at him, but did as he said.

“I’m a friend of Akira’s, he’s been shot and he insisted I call you rather than an ambulance,” Iwai said when she picked up.

Akira thought he heard someone yell in response, and Iwai replied, “I’ll explain later, but he needs medical attention right now, before he loses any more blood.”

They kept talking for a bit but Akira felt himself drifting away. He was tired, so tired, and Iwai wouldn’t mind if he took a short nap. Just until Takemi came. It would be alright…

“Akira!” He was woken up by Iwai shaking his shoulder, his other hand back pressing against the gun shot wound. “You’ve gotta stay awake, ok? Stay with me, please,” he begged.

Akira reached a hand up to touch Iwai’s face, his thoughts sluggish. “I’m here, Mune,” he murmured as he trailed a hand over the man’s face.

Iwai bowed his head down until their foreheads touched. “Takemi’s on the way and you’re gonna be alright, you’re gonna be fine you just have to stay here, just hold on a little longer.”

It seemed to matter a lot to Iwai that Akira stay awake, so he tried, he really did, but he found that his eyes seemed to have closed of their own accord.

“Akira, no, please come back to me,” Iwai said with a broken sob. That made him sad. He didn’t want Iwai to cry, but he couldn’t quite remember what he was supposed to do.

“I love you,” he heard, the words sparking something inside of him, but still his eyes refused to open, his mouth to speak. Sleep soothed gentle fingers over him, telling him that it was ok, he could worry about all of that later, and he let it take him. The last thing he felt before fading out was the soft press of lips against his forehead.

* * *

He opened his eyes to the muted lights of machines and the soft beeping of a heart monitor. There was a deep, dull ache at his side — the gunshot, he remembered — and a hand holding his, a spot of warmth in the otherwise chilly room. He shifted, trying to see whose it was, and saw a familiar head of grey hair resting against the bed besides his chest. His movement must have woken him up; he lifted his head, smiling when he saw that Akira was awake.

“How are you feeling?”

Akira thought about it. “Tired. Cold. But it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would…”

Iwai let go of his hand, walking across the room and returning with a blanket that he spread over Akira.

“Takemi put you on some pretty heavy-duty painkillers, but you only get them for a few days, so don’t get too used to it,” he said, coming to stand at the head of the bed. Akira moved as if to sit up, but Iwai gently pushed him back against the bed. “The bullet broke one of your ribs and collapsed a lung. You’re on bedrest at least a couple days, and even after that you aren’t going to be moving around much for a few weeks. Takemi said you shouldn't see any lasting impact, luckily.” Iwai’s eyes turned pleading. “If I’d even suspected he would actually shoot, I’d never have let you come. You know that, right?”

Akira put his hand over Iwai’s where it still rested against his shoulder. “I don’t blame you for it. I — wait, what happened to Kaoru?!” he asked fearfully as he recalled the reason all of this had happened.

“Shh, don’t move. He’s fine, he’s sleeping in the next room,” Iwai replied. “While Takemi was operating on you, I called up one of my contacts back in the clan and told him what had gone down. Tsuda lost any right to my loyalty when he pulled that trigger. He told me they’d found Kaoru — Tsuda got Masa, the guy you saw at the diner, to kidnap him, but he chickened out. Realised it was breaking code to mess with civilians, decided he’d rather get on Tsuda’s bad side than on the whole clan’s. Smarter man than I originally took him for, I gotta say. Anyway, they brought him over here. Tsuda…” His voice was pained. “Tsuda’s not gonna be a problem for anyone anymore. There’s only so many mistakes you can be forgiven for… I wish it hadn’t had to end like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Akira said, and he really was. He’d seen that cornered rabbit look in Tsuda’s eyes. He wished he could have found another way to protect Iwai, one that would have pushed the man to run away rather than attack.

Iwai shook his head. “Don’t be. I would pick you over him any time, Akira.” He leaned down to Akira, but before he could bring their faces together Akira shifted away.

“Is this real, Mune? Or are you going to take it back again? I know what I did that night wasn’t ok, that it wasn’t what you wanted. But if you kiss me right now and you still feel that way, I don’t think I can take it. To hope, and to have it taken away… I can’t do it anymore. It’s too much.”

Iwai brushed the hair off Akira’s forehead, his expression unreadable, and then he drew close again and pressed his lips to Akira’s, soft but deliberate.

“It’s real. I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me, Akira.” He kissed Akira again before settling back into the chair besides the bed. “Takemi wasn’t sure if you’d wake up again when she found us; you’d lost so much blood, and she didn’t know if your internal organs had been hit or not. Sitting in the back of that van, wondering with each breath you took if it would be the last, I realised I didn’t want to imagine my life without you. It’s selfish of me, but… I love you.”

Warmth suffused Akira’s chest at those words. “So I didn’t dream up you saying that last night.”

Iwai reached a hand up to caress his cheek. “I didn’t think you’d heard.”

Akira caught his hand, brought it to his lips. He was content just to hold it there until Iwai brushed his thumb along his lower lip, prompting him to kiss the pad of his finger.

“I love you too, Mune.”

Iwai smiled, and it wasn’t soft or mocking or wry or any of the other smiles Akira had seen him wear before; this one glowed, casting off happiness like the sun cast off light. This facet of Iwai was love, through and through, and Akira knew without a hint of a doubt that no matter how many others he came to see, it would always be his favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue left to go!  
> Thanks for all your nice comments so far, writing for a rarepair like this view counts and kudos aren't really high but all the kind words make up for it!!


	8. Forever

The next day, Takemi drove Akira to Iwai’s house. He’d argued, not wanting to impose, but Iwai had insisted and said it was the least he could do. He still blamed himself, despite Akira’s reassurances, and in any case going home alone would have been a bad idea considering he still wasn’t supposed to move around. Then there was the issue of his cat, who couldn’t be left alone in the apartment for the week or two it would take before Akira was allowed to get up, and so Iwai’s family suddenly grew from two to four.

Akira would be staying on the pull-out bed in the living room; not that Iwai didn’t want him in his bed, he’d explained, but he didn’t want to make Kaoru feel uncomfortable, and as lonely as the nights were without him Akira agreed. There would be time to tell Kaoru about their relationship later, at a calmer time. At least the living room had a TV, which made the endless hours less dull, and though he couldn’t kiss Iwai, the private smiles they shared when Kaoru wasn’t looking were still a thrill.

Iwai closed Untouchable for the weekend, not willing to leave either Akira or Kaoru alone. Akira spent most of it asleep, catching bits of conversation between Iwai and his son when he drifted back into focus. His cat, Morgana, slept at his feet most of the first day, but he distinctly saw the black and white traitor curled up in Kaoru’s lap the next day.

When he felt awake enough to do so, he texted his friends to let them know what had happened before they could worry about him. They all expressed horror at the injury, asking what had happened, and he hinted at some sort of legal reason for keeping quiet about it, which seemed to satisfy them once they were convinced he would be fine.

Sunday evening, Takemi came by to check up on him. She declared that his recovery was going very well; she was putting him on medicine that wouldn’t leave him so drowsy, and he could probably stand up and walk around by the end of the week, so long as he made sure to be very careful about his broken rib, which would hurt enough to be its own reminder in any case.

Iwai did have to reopen Untouchable when Monday came around, but as he had no classes that day Ryuji came over to keep him company — and bring him snacks from the kitchen. Being stuck in a bed was really, really annoying, and the pain that filtered through his new medication didn’t help, leaving Akira a complete grump. Luckily, Ryuji was the kind of friend who knew when to tell you you were being an ass, which he gladly did. He did his best to tone down his moodiness, but the day still seemed to drag on for an eternity despite his friend’s presence.

It was just after 7 when Iwai returned. Ryuji stood to greet him, then prepared to leave, packing up the books and portable console he’d scattered around the bed. Like an afterthought, he handed the console back to Akira.

“Here, you probably need this more than I do right now.”

Akira wasn’t feeling much better, but looking at his best friend’s outstretched hand, he felt a surge of affection. Ryuji had sacrificed his day off to stay with him, and it definitely hadn’t been for the pleasure of his company.

“Thanks, Ryuji,” he said with feeling as he took the console.

“Dude, it’s no big deal,” Ryuji replied, eyebrow raised at his emotional tone. “I’ve got plenty of games on my PC. Oh, also,” a mischievous grin split his face as he leaned down to whisper in Akira’s ear, “your boyfriend is _built_ , man! Nice going!”

Akira flamed red as a tomato. “Go away,” he mumbled, refusing to look at Ryuji, who laughed and pulled back.

Of course Ryuji knew about him and Iwai; he was his best friend, after all. But the word _boyfriend_ seemed so loud and garish. It evoked school yard romances, hand holding and performative dating, on display for the world. He didn’t have that, didn’t want that with Iwai. Iwai was home, like a comfortable old shirt you wore to bed, like a warm cup of a tea on a cold winter day. Iwai was his, just his, qualifier unnecessary. Their love fit within the walls of this house and of the shop; not that it couldn’t overrun them, not that it was constrained by them, but rather that it did not require ostentatious dates and public affection to be real.

Ryuji wouldn’t have understood that, though; everything about him was loud and obvious and open. He couldn’t fault him for it; that was part of what he loved about his best friend.

“I’ll bring you class notes and homework sometime this week!” Ryuji said before heading out. “I mean, if that’s alright with you?” he asked, turning to Iwai.

“Of course.”

After closing the door behind Ryuji, Iwai came to sit next to Akira.

“He seems nice.”

“He is,” Akira agreed, then reached for Iwai’s neck to tug him down to his level and kiss him. “Not as nice as you, though.”

Iwai rolled his eyes. “You’re biased.”

“Mhmm,” Akira hummed in response, enjoying the hint of red in Iwai’s cheeks.

“So, what do you want for dinner?”

“Anything’s good,” he replied, but before Iwai could move away he grabbed his hand. “Hold on, though. There’s something I wanted to talk about while we have the house to ourselves.”

The bed creaked as Iwai settled back down, turning to Akira with a worried crease in his forehead. “Is there a problem?”

“Not with us. It’s about Kaoru. I meant to tell you about this earlier, but…” he trailed off, looking away; between his angry attempt at breaking up and the night of the kidnapping, it hadn’t been an easy week.

Iwai laid a hand on his shoulder, inviting him to go on.

“Back at the diner, he said something that kind of worried me. He asked if he was weighing you down, and then said he wasn’t sure you… he wasn’t sure you even considered him part of your family.”

Iwai’s face fell, jaw going slack, and Akira realised he could have paraphrased a bit more. “Not that I think that’s true at all! It’s obvious you love him—”

“But if he feels that way, I’m doing something wrong. Did he say why?”

“There was something about you avoiding him, and hearing his name mentioned on the phone. I never asked, but he doesn’t know about your past, does he?”

“No. I didn’t want him to grow up with that stigma. The way I came to live with Kaoru wasn’t exactly…conventional.”

“He mentioned it.”

“He did? What did he say?

“That his parents died in a car accident and you took him in,” Akira replied, waiting to see if Iwai would confirm it.

“That’s what I told him.” The wording was clear, but there was a long pause before he spoke again, and Akira wondered if that was all he was going to say about it. “The truth is, his mother brought him in to our headquarters, back when I was barely an adult myself. Tried to sell him to us, probably for drug money, and when we refused she left him there and ran off. The other guys, they wanted to get rid of him. Would have been the smart decision, but when I picked him up something inside me never wanted to put him down again. Like he was always _supposed_ to be mine. He’s the reason I left. I didn’t want him to grow up there and turn out like me.”

Akira brushed his fingers up Iwai’s arm. “Hmm…. he could do worse than turning out like you,” he said with some heat in his voice.

Iwai cast a sideways glance at him, but Akira could see he was pleased beneath the exasperation. “Stop flattering me.”

With his best “who, me?” impression, Akira shrugged his shoulders — and stopped with a wince as it pulled on his rib.

“What’s wrong?” Iwai asked, instantly alert.

“Nothing, I mean, nothing more than the usual. I think the meds are starting to wear off.”

“You have to take them with food, right?” Akira nodded, and Iwai got up. “I’ll go get dinner ready, then.”

“Wait. I know why you didn’t want to tell Kaoru, but right now I think it’s hurting more than it’s helping. He suspects something, if he hasn’t already guessed it from his kidnapping, and he needs you to trust him.”

Iwai stayed still for a time, eyes dropping to the floor. Finally, he breathed out in a loud sigh. “I’ll think about it. I’ve almost told him before, but every time I picture him looking at me, all disappointed, and I can’t stand it. But,” he said, before Akira could reply, “I know you’re right. I’ll try. When all this,” with a wave at Akira and the bed,” is over.”

* * *

The next day, Kaoru came home before Iwai. Akira worried they might be uncomfortable around each other, but having bought Kaoru that Frui-T seemed to have ingratiated him to the teen, who greeted him with a bright smile and settled down at the table in the living room to do his homework. Morgana hopped up on the table beside him, and Kaoru pet him before opening his books.

He wasn’t too talkative as he worked, but Akira appreciated the company all the same; spending the whole day stuck in bed with only a cat for company had definitely not been fun. Takemi was coming over for another check-up tonight and he had high hopes for being allowed out of bed at last. 

After Kaoru’s third loud, annoyed huff in as many minutes, Akira figured it was time to break the silence.

“What’s up?”

“I keep getting the wrong answer to this math problem. But I’m doing exactly what the book says to do!”

“Hmm, bring it over here.” Middle school math shouldn’t, Akira hoped, be too much of a struggle for him.

It turned out to be a lot harder than he’d expected. Not that the exercise was different from what he’d done at that age, but it was crazy how quickly you could forget skills you never used. It took the help of the textbook, some internet searches, and a big dent to his ego, but in the end they managed to figure out the right way to get the answer. At least, Akira thought wryly, seeing him struggle seemed to have boosted Kaoru’s confidence, who had pulled his chair over to use the bed as a table and was focused on the next problem.

They kept working together; Akira enjoyed relearning the material, and Kaoru seemed to enjoy working with someone. They were so engrossed in the task that Akira didn’t realise right away when Iwai got home; he looked up to find him still standing in the entrance, as though they’d surprised him too much to remove his shoes or coat. He had a soft smile and his eyes were sparkling, fondness evident on his face.

Akira blushed at how clear the emotion was and said hi, startling Kaoru who bounced up to greet his father.

“Akira’s awesome! He helped me do my homework, even though he totally didn’t remember how to do it and he had to look it up!” Above Kaoru’s head, Iwai shot him a loving smile, before telling Kaoru to finish off his homework and go take a bath before dinner.

After they’d eaten, Takemi dropped by. To Akira’s great relief, she told him he could start walking around a bit — “as little as possible, you shouldn’t be heading outside for at least a couple weeks.” After refilling his medication, she told him to call her if his condition seemed to get worse, and that otherwise she’d see him in a week and a half.

* * *

Ryuji dropped by the next morning before class to drop off notes and classwork. Akira studied at the table; it felt _so good_ being able to sit up, even though his broken rib definitely hurt more in that position. When he’d finished, he took a bath — Iwai had helped him out with light sponge bathing after Kaoru was asleep, but he still felt disgusting — and then headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

By the time he was done, his rib and his lung were killing him, but the house was filled with the delicious aroma of curry, which seemed like a good tradeoff. He went to lie down while he waited for the others; Kaoru seemed to get home around this time, and Iwai had said he’d be home a bit earlier today, so it shouldn’t be too long.

They walked through the door together a short time later, both exclaiming over how good the food smelled.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Iwai said.

“I wanted to. Can you turn on the rice cooker? The curry should still be hot if we hurry,” Akira replied.

They sat down to eat a short while later, Akira fitting in at the dinner table like he’d always been meant to be there.

“Thish ish sho good!” Kaoru exclaimed after his first spoonful. He swallowed and added, “Way better than Dad’s!”

Akira mouthed an apologetic “sorry” at Iwai, who shrugged. “He’s right. Thanks, Akira.”

After dinner, Akira went back to lie down, vowing to take it more easily the next day. Iwai and Kaoru settled in to watch a movie, a rare night off from studying for the teen, but Akira found himself nodding off quickly.

He thought he felt someone pull the covers up over him a bit later, but he was too tired to do more than mumble a quiet “thanks” and fall back asleep.

* * *

The rest of the week, and the one after, passed in the same way; Akira continued to help Kaoru with his homework, made dinner most days, and continued tutoring Iwai, which he insisted on paying him for. “Just because we’re together doesn’t make your student loans disappear,” he’d said, which had been a valid enough argument to shut Akira up.

Akira found himself settling right into the comfortable family life. Apart from the fact that their kisses were only stolen when Kaoru was not there, and that he couldn’t share Iwai’s bed, it was perfect, and he found himself dreading the day he’d finally go back home. 

That day came after Takemi’s next follow-up visit, two weeks after his injury. She told him to continue taking it easy, which meant he wouldn’t be returning to school yet, but he could do light grocery shopping.. Despite how much he wanted to stay, Akira started packing up the clothing and cat supplies Iwai had brought him, which had somehow managed to get scattered through the whole apartment.

“You know I’d rather keep you here, but I want to take this slow for Kaoru,” Iwai told him when Kaoru was taking his bath.

“I know,” Akira replied, and he did, but that didn’t stop him from feeling sorry for himself. It would be terrible, going back to his dark and silent bedroom after having experienced what it could be like to come home to a real family.

It wasn’t a surprise that he and Iwai were looking particularly gloomy as he stood in the doorway with his bags and cat carrier about him. It was, however, much less expected to see Kaoru just as unhappy.

“Do you have to go?”

“Well, I’m sure you and your dad would like to have your couch back at some point, right?” Akira replied, aiming for a cheerful tone. Kaoru’s expression didn’t change, though.

When his bags were packed in the taxi, Kaoru turned to Akira and shook his hand very earnestly. “You have to come back and visit, ok? And Morgana too!”

Akira smiled. He just hoped Kaoru’s opinion of him wouldn’t change when he found out he was dating his father. “I will,” he promised. He traded the kiss he would have liked to give Iwai for a tight handshake and settled into the taxi, heading back to his apartment, which he found himself unwilling to qualify of “home.”

* * *

Being back in his own apartment _sucked_. There was the obvious reason of being away from Iwai, of course, but it was so much more. For one, there was the bathing situation; Akira didn’t have a bath, and standing up for too long still hurt. He rushed most of his showers, and found himself sitting at the bottom of the much-too-small stall folded up on himself every time he needed to wash his hair. It was also getting colder outside and his room was barely heated, which Akira had lived through without incident for the past two years, but the contrast with Iwai’s comfortably warm living room made the air feel twice as cold. His kitchen access was the cafe downstairs after it had closed, which was much less comfortable than Iwai’s nice, large kitchen. Even Morgana seemed to find the place sorely lacking, walking restlessly around and meowing inquisitively at every door as if his new friends were hiding there.

It had only been a week and Akira was already completely ready to move back in with Iwai. He did get to see him for their lessons, held in the attic rather than in Iwai’s shop to spare Akira the trip,  but after spending every evening together it was completely insufficient. However, Iwai wanted to give Kaoru time to get used to their relationship before he moved back in, which meant Iwai needed to _tell_ Kaoru about their relationship.

Thursday evening, Akira broached the subject after they were done studying.

“Have you thought about how you want to tell him about us yet?” he asked, trying to keep the impatience from his voice.

“About that… I thought about what you told me, how he felt a little left out of his own family, and I feel like I need to fix that before I go about throwing someone new into our family.” 

It made sense. It made _perfect sense_ , which was the only reason Akira didn’t let out a loud groan of frustration but only a soft sigh.

Iwai turned to him, troubled. “I really want this too, Akira. You know that.”

“Yeah… yeah, I do. Sorry. It’s just… I miss you, you know?”

Iwai pulled him into a careful hug. “I miss you too. Maybe I can send Kaoru off on another sleepover one of these days,” he mumbled, making Akira blush.

He settled back in his chair, tapping a finger on the table. “That said, I did want to ask if you would be there with me when I tell him about the Yakuza. I’d appreciate the support. You can leave if it gets weird, but if he doesn’t want to talk to me, maybe having someone else around will help…”

“Of course,” Akira replied without hesitation. “I don’t think you’ll need me, but I’ll be there.”

* * *

Iwai had ended up deciding to tell Kaoru that weekend, feeling that waiting any more wouldn’t help. He’d originally wanted to wait a bit longer, to let Kaoru get over the kidnapping incident, but he’d had surprisingly little trouble moving past it; apparently he’d been well-treated by those clan members who remembered him as the baby from years ago — although of course they hadn’t told him, knowing Iwai’s choice to give him a life away from the Yakuza.

Akira arrived a short time before lunch, holding a bouquet “for the house, to thank you for inviting me,” but the lingering hand on his as Iwai took the flowers let him know he wasn’t fooled. Lunch was enjoyable, Kaoru monopolizing most of the discussion to talk about some exams he’d had at school the previous day. Afterwards, they cleaned up together, and when the dishes were dry and put away Iwai asked his son to join him on the couch. Akira stayed on a barstool, close enough to hear if he was needed, but far away enough to give the two some privacy.

“There’s something I’d been meaning to talk to you about for a while,” Iwai started hesitantly. Surprisingly, Kaoru’s immediate response was excitement. He brightened up visibly, smiling.

“What is it?!”

“I really hope this doesn’t change how you feel about me, but I think you deserve to know the truth.”

“It won’t!” Kaoru replied, tapping his foot in clear anticipation.

“All right,” Iwai said, and from his seat at the bar Akira saw him gulp before he continued, “I used to be a Yakuza.”

The words hung in the air, but Kaoru, far from looking surprised or shocked or even angry, seemed… disappointed.

“I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. I understand if you want some time alone to think about what that means, for you and for us.”

Kaoru shook his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… was I not supposed to know that?”

Iwai’s eyes went wide. “Who told you?”

“No one? I mean, I’ve seen your tattoos, I’m not stupid you know. I’m not a kid!”

Akira swallowed a laugh at that, trying to keep silent when the motion sent pain rippling through his chest.

“Getting kidnapped by people with guns who seemed to have a good idea of who you were wasn’t the most discreet thing either,” Kaoru added.

“I… yeah. And you’re ok with that?”

“Of course, you’re still my dad,” Kaoru replied with a tone that said it was a dumb question, and Iwai no smarter for having asked it.

The relief on Iwai’s face was evident, and Akira distracted himself with his phone while Iwai explained how he’d actually found Kaoru and why he’d left the Yakuza.

When Iwai seemed to be done talking, Akira came to join them, but he noticed Kaoru still wore the same unhappy expression he had earlier.

“Does this bother you?” Akira asked, despite knowing it wasn’t really his place to do so.

Kaoru frowned at him before turning back to his father. “No. It’s just… I thought you were gonna tell me you two were dating!”

There were now two pairs of wide eyes staring at the teenager, who shook his head like he was completely exasperated with the “adults” in the room. “I see how you look at each other every time you think I can’t tell! I mean I don’t really _want_ to know who my dad’s kissing, blergh, you don’t need to share details ok, I just want Akira to move back in!”

“You… do?” Akira asked in a far-away voice. They’d really underestimated Kaoru.

“You’re better at explaining homework than Dad is, and you’re definitely a better cook. And I miss Morgana!” he exclaimed loudly to Akira. Then he cast his eyes down, addressing his father again, and seemed to hesitate before adding, “And uh, he makes you happy. You don’t smile as much when he’s not here.”

Akira caught Iwai’s eye, seeing the tears pooling there, before Iwai drew his son into a tight hug. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, just loud enough that Akira heard.

Kaoru pushed his dad away, looking embarrassed. “Come on, Dad, don’t be weird!”

Iwai chuckled, then looked to Akira, who nodded at him. “Well. I’d like you to meet my…” Iwai wavered, obviously looking for the right word to describe their relationship, before saying, “partner. I hope you two can get along.”

Kaoru laughed. “Only if he promises to cook for me!”

“I can do that,” Akira replied with a grin.

“And if you’re really ok with him moving in—”

“Duh!”

“—then we can start planning that, too,” Iwai finished with a broad smile.

* * *

There was no pull-out bed in the living room when Akira moved back in, and after Kaoru had headed to bed they were almost shy as they headed to the bedroom that was now _theirs_. It wasn’t anything like the last time Akira had been in there. Takemi had insisted that there be absolutely none of _that_ until his rib was fully healed, and considering how much even laughing hurt, he was inclined to agree with her. But even without that restriction, it had none of the burning urgency of the previous time. Back then, he’d felt like he was fighting against time, trying desperately to fill himself up with all he could grab before it slipped away from him yet again. This time was filled with the certitude of tomorrow, and of every day thereafter stretching out in an endless, peaceful succession.

They were sitting on the edge of the bed, Akira’s head on Iwai’s shoulder. One of Iwai’s arms was wrapped around Akira while the other brushed carefully through his hair, and he felt so comfortable he would have been purring if he’d been a cat.

As he contemplated the events that had brought him back here, he said, “You know, I feel like I should thank Tsuda.” Iwai stuttered in outrage before Akira added, “If that night hadn’t happened, would you ever have admitted that you loved me? Or would we be going to bed alone tonight, looking at our phones and wishing in vain for the other to call and apologize?”

Iwai turned a guilty frown towards him. “...I want to say yes, but… I’m not sure.”

Akira leaned up to press their lips together. “Don’t feel bad. I’d rather have a broken rib and you, than neither,” he whispered when they broke apart. Iwai blushed at his words, the pink across his face so tender, so at odds with his severe haircut and his sharply sculpted face. Akira always loved seeing this gentle and sentimental Iwai that belonged only to him.

When they fell asleep in each other’s arms a short time later, they’d gone no further than soft kisses, but Akira was sure he’d never been happier in his life. He was warm, comfortable, perfectly at peace; he was, to put it simply, right where he belonged.

* * *

They’d been living together for a few months, Akira’s injury fading at last, when the time came for Kaoru to pass his high school entrance exams. It was a tense few weeks for everyone as they waited for the results to come back. The letter finally arrived on a cold day in February, and they all gathered around the dinner table to open it together, anxiety palpable in the air.

It was Iwai who reached for the letter first — as Akira’d known he would. He opened it with trembling hands and pulled it out, scanning it carefully. On the other side of the table, Kaoru bounced impatiently in chair, finally bursting out.

“Come on, give it to me already!”

Iwai folded the letter back up and looked at his son with happy tears in his eyes and a shaky smile. “You did it, Kaoru, you got in I’m so _proud of you!_ " he said, his voice building up to a shout by the end as he stood to walk around the table and squeeze his shoulder.

“I— I got— how could you read it? I really got in?! But— how?” Kaoru’s expression wavered between excited joy and complete confusion.

“I’ve actually been taking lessons all year with Akira,” Iwai explained a bit nervously. “That’s how we met. I wanted to surprise you. I… wanted to be someone you could be proud of, too.” He looked somewhat embarrassed.

Kaoru seemed startled, but after a moment rose to wrap his arms around Iwai.

“You already were, though,” he said in a shy but happy tone.

When they pulled apart and waved for Akira to join in their hug, he came willingly, the warmth of their arms around him matching how he felt inside. When he’d answered that ad all those months ago, he’d only been looking for some pocket money; how lucky was he, instead, to have found his family?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Thank you for sticking with me through the end. If you enjoyed it, please leave me a comment, they are the most wonderful form of thanks!
> 
> By the way, this fic marks (very precisely) 100k words of fanfiction since I started writing back in ~May. Considering I'd never done any sort of creative writing outside of high school classes more than 10 years ago, I can definitely say I did not foresee 2018 looking like this ;)  
> (No, it was not easy managing to get that exact 100k, if you're wondering...)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://thermopylod.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/thermopylod), or if you enjoyed this fic and its pairing, on [the iwaipego discord](https://discord.gg/HxCZM8G)!


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